


Without a Word

by Salambo06



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt Sherlock, John takes care of him, Love Confessions, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Sherlock can't talk anymore, Virgin Sherlock, friends to lover, minor case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-16 10:31:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10569480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: This work is a mix between two prompts I've received.After being punched in the face, Sherlock has his jaw wired shut. Unable to speak anymore, they have to learn how to communicate with each other in other ways.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here are the two prompts I've received, both anoymous. Thank you for the inspiration, and I hope you'll both like this story :)
> 
> \- Sherlock gets punched by a suspect and has to have his jaw wired shut. john makes him milkshakes. not much of a concept (and i've no idea what having one's jaw wired shut is really like...i know kanye west was able to record a song while his was) but for some reason i keep thinking about jaw-wired-shut sherlock only being able to communicate via grunts/gestures and john&greg toying with him a bit at a crime scene. and then the second his jaw's unwired he starts snogging john like crazy.  
> \- Sherlock getting steadily more and more exhausted throughout a case but refusing to tell John, who obviously sees through his facade. But since Sherlock is refusing to sleep, he has to trick him into sleeping. Thus ensues a determined army doctor endearing for Sherlock to close his damn eyes and sleep.
> 
> Thank you to [Heather](http://astudyinsnoggy.tumblr.com/) for her job as a beta !  
> [My Tumblr](http://ggaypilot.tumblr.com/)  
> 

John sees it coming long before Sherlock does, but by the time he manages to pull the man away, Sherlock is already falling backward with the force of the punch.

“Are you insane!” Lestrade yells, moving to help him and John thanks him with a quick nod. “Stop this now!”

The suspect is still trying to get to Sherlock, “Repeat what you just said! Repeat what you j-”

“Stop,” Lestrade orders, louder this time and backs the man up against the nearest wall. “Stop this now or I’ll arrest you, understand?”

The man’s eyes are roaming from Sherlock to Lestrade quickly, “Fine. I get it.”

John waits until he’s certain the suspect won’t come after Sherlock again before letting go of him. Lestrade still has one hand pressed against the man’s chest, “Is he alright?”

John hurries to kneel down by Sherlock’s side, “Sherlock?”

Eyes closed, Sherlock is rubbing a hand over his jaw, his whole face tensing with pain. It doesn’t take a medical expert to realise it’s dislocated. “Don’t try to speak, or it’ll hurt even worse,” John says quickly, pushing away Sherlock’s hand to have a better look.

“It do-” Sherlock starts before wincing in pain, his hand flying back to his face automatically.

“Told you so,” John sighs. “You’ll need to go to the hospital.” Sherlock glares at him, not a word needed to understand what he thinks about that. “It’s the hospital or it’ll get worse, and trust me, neither of us want that.”

Lestrade kneels next to him, “Is he okay?”

John nods, “He’ll be fine once we get to the hospital.”

“Sorry about Jensen, I had no idea he would react like that,” Lestrade continues, helping put Sherlock back on his feet.

“Sherlock went too far,” John replies, earning another glare.

“I did no-” Sherlock tries again and this time actually whimpers in pain, both hands cupping his face now.

“Alright, that’s it,” John asserts, “Hospital. Now.”

Sherlock starts sulking once they’re inside the cab, barely glancing at him and John can’t help but smile. It’s been too long since Sherlock had a proper sulk, ever since John moved back to Baker Street actually, six months ago. It had been both the most natural and difficult decision he had to make at the time, having no idea what he was supposed to do with Rosie after all that had happened. It hadn’t been the easiest six months of their life, with the whispered apologies in the middle of the night, neither of them being able to sleep facing each other in their chairs. Sherlock hadn’t said much when John had decided to see Ella again, to finally put an end to the constant anger inside him, and one day, it had almost felt like before.

“I’ll call Mrs Hudson to let her know we’ll be late,” he says, looking at Sherlock and feeling his smile widen. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not the one who just got punched.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, about to reply but the smallest movement of his lips makes him wince again. It doesn’t stop him from sulking even more, and John shakes his head as he dials the number.  Mrs Hudson reassures him right away that she’ll be fine with Rosie for a few more hours, and urges him to take care of Sherlock. John glances at the still sulking detective and murmurs a soft _of course_ before hanging up.

The doctor confirms what John already knows and the look on Sherlock’s face when he realises he won’t be able to speak or eat proper food for at least the next two weeks is priceless.

“You’re lucky,” the doctor declares. “It’s only a minor dislocation, otherwise it would have been six weeks;”

John tries not to smile, and prepares himself for the upcoming refusal to comply. What he doesn’t expect is for Sherlock to take out his phone and type furiously, but then his own phone vibrates in his pocket, and this time he laughs out loud.

 

**received / 10:34**

This doctor is an idiot. We need to leave, now. SH

 

John puts his phone away without bothering to reply. Sherlock looks almost offended for a second before standing up and heading for the door. John stops him at the last moment, closing his hand around his wrist and shaking his head, “Not until you have your bandages.” For some unknown reason, Sherlock doesn’t try to flee the room a second time, and spends the entire time it takes to get his bandage fixed staring at him. John does his best not to stare back, because really, they can’t both stare, and listens patiently to the doctor’s advice. He already knows that Sherlock is going to suffer for the upcoming week, especially considering he can’t take too many pain killers, and John prepares himself for some more sulking and protests.

By the time they’re free to leave the hospital, Sherlock has been ordered not to try and speak for at least two weeks, and instructed to eat liquid food as much as possible. Any movement could cause more permanent damage, and John is determined to make sure it’ll heal properly. Sherlock spends the entire ride back home on his phone, probably still working on their case, and John allows himself a moment to rest. They’ve been working on this case for the past three days, and Sherlock is getting more and more desperate to solve it. He barely slept, barely eaten too, and it is a miracle he’s still standing with the pain he must be in right now. But still, John doesn’t say anything and tries his best to have his back, to be there, just in case.

 

**received / 11:02**

We have to go back to the Yard. SH

 

“No way,” John replies immediately, turning to look at Sherlock, phone still in hand. “Rosie is waiting for us, and you have to rest.”

Sherlock keeps his eyes on him as he types his next text.

 

**received / 11:04**

Mrs Hudson can take care of her for another hour. I’m certain that suspect was our killer. SH

 

John sighs, closing his eyes for a second, “Lestrade is probably interrogating him right now. We can drop by later.” Sherlock is about to type another text, and John reaches for his phone, pulling it out of his hands. “We’re going home. You’re going to eat and then we can find a way to have you work this case.”

Sherlock frowns at him, the unspoken question written all over his face, and John smiles.

“You can’t speak, Sherlock,” he says. “We need to find a way for you to continue solving this case.” Sherlock’s eyes drop to his phone, still in John’s hands. “That was a good idea, yes,” John concedes. “But I was thinking more of a pen and a piece of paper.”

Sherlock shrugs, most likely getting bored with this conversation already, and John sighs. He looks back to the window, still feeling Sherlock’s eyes on him, and he realises that he’s going to miss Sherlock’s voice.

It takes less than two hours for Sherlock to try to remove his bandage for the first time, and John is ready for it. They’ve just finished lunch and John is coming down from putting Rosie to sleep when he catches Sherlock in the act.

“Stop,” he orders immediately, pulling Sherlock’s hands away from his face and holding them down. “You can’t do that.” Sherlock’s glare almost makes him let go. “It’ll take more time to heal if you do that, and neither of us wants that.”

Sherlock manages to free one hand and he reaches for the notebook John gave him when they got home. Arching an eyebrow, Sherlock glances to the pen and then to John’s hand still holding his. “Fine,” John sighs. “Go ahead.”

Sherlock writes quickly, as usual, before handing him the notebook.

_Just for a few hours, just the time to solve this case._

“No,” John asserts. “You’re Sherlock Holmes, you’ll find a way to solve this case without speaking.”

Sherlock stares at him for several seconds, something close to surprise in his eyes, and John looks away. He hears more than he sees him write something else down, and he takes another glance at the notebook quickly.

 _Then you’ll be my voice_.

John swallows around the knot in his throat and nods, “Yes, of course.”

He glances back up at Sherlock only to find him with his eyes closed, a painful look on his face, and John hates that he can’t do anything about it. He wishes he could give him another painkiller, could make the pain go away, but they both know Sherlock needs to remain in control. They can’t risk it, not with what happened during Culverton case.

“Do you want to lie down a bit?” John asks, his voice softer than he had expected it to be.

Sherlock shakes his head, eyes fluttering open. They stare at each other in silence for a long moment. John thinks of taking Sherlock’s hand again, thinks about lacing their fingers together and whispering that he’ll be fine, that he’ll get through this, but he doesn’t move. There are too many things he thinks about these days, too many things he never dares to try, to say, to do.

“I should go check on Rosie, make sure she’s alright” John says, still unable to move. Sherlock nods, just the slightest movement as he winces in pain again. “Try to rest a bit, then we’ll go back to the Yard.” Sherlock hums, the sound low in his throat and John laughs, “There you go, communicating.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes again but heads to his bedroom, casting one last look at John before closing the door behind him. The flat falls into silence, not a sound coming from either Sherlock’s room or upstairs, and for the first time, John finds that he does not like it. He’d much prefer Sherlock yelling on his phone or mumbling in the kitchen.

His phone chimed.

 

**received / 14:12**

I’m not tired, John. SH

 

Smiling to himself, John hurries to text back.

 

**sent / 14:12**

You’ve been in there for two minutes.

**received / 14:13**

It’s already too long. SH

**sent / 14:13**

Just close your eyes, Sherlock.

**received / 14:14**

I know how to sleep, John, I’m not an idiot. SH

**sent / 14:14**

Never said you were.

 

John puts his phone back in his pocket quickly, cracking the door open to his bedroom and glancing at Rosie’s sleeping figure. His phone chimed two more times, and by the third, John stops denying the warmness spreading throughout his entire chest.

 

**received / 14:15**

I’m bored, John. SH

**received / 14:15**

John. Don’t ignore me. SH

**received / 14:15**

John. SH

**received / 14:15**

I’m surprised you’re not out of your bedroom yet, impressive.

**received / 14:15**

I’m not a child. I can control myself. SH

**received / 14:15**

I can’t get up. My head hurts now. SH

 

John lets out a loud sigh, pondering the idea of getting Sherlock another pain killer.

 

**received / 14:15**

I could get you a wet flannel. Would that help?

 

John waits for a reply that doesn’t come before walking to Sherlock’s bedroom door. He knocks softly, “Sherlock?” Something close to a groan answers him and he pushes the door open slowly. “Do you want that flannel?” He finds Sherlock’s eyes in the half darkness of the room. Sherlock hums again, attempting to nod but choosing against it. “Don’t move,” John tells him, going to the bathroom. He makes sure the water is hot before wetting the flannel, and he joins Sherlock back in his room.

Not having moved, Sherlock’s eyes follow him around the room until John finally sits near him on the bed. He places the flannel on his forehead softly and whispers, “Alright?” Another quiet hum from Sherlock as he closes his eyes and exhales loudly. “I’m sorry it hurts so much.” Sherlock keeps his eyes closed but John feels him lean into the touch, so he keeps his hand on the flannel and make sure to apply just the right pressure. “Is there anything I can do?”

Sherlock’s eyes flutter back open, finding his immediately, and John’s breath catches. He doesn’t look away as Sherlock shakes his head ever so slowly and pins him right where he is with just one look. “Close your eyes,” John says softly. It takes Sherlock another second before he complies, and John brings his other hand to his wrist. “Try to concentrate on my hand only,” he murmurs, feeling Sherlock tense for a moment. John is about to remove his hand when a long shiver runs through Sherlock’s body. He waits a second, two, three before asking, “Alright?”

Sherlock doesn’t react but his fingers brush John’s skin softly, a quiet approbation, and John lets out the breath he was holding. He slides his hand up and down Sherlock’s arm slowly, “Focus on me, on the touch,” he continues, keeping his voice low and reassuring. He knows too well how hard it can be to sleep when the pain is all you can think about, and if this can help Sherlock to sleep, then John isn’t going to stop without trying. He forces himself to keep his eyes on Sherlock’s chest, knowing he could betray himself if he stares at his face too long. Even with his eyes closed, Sherlock can read him like an open book.

“Try to think of nothing else,” he whispers, keeping a close eye on Sherlock’s breathing patterns, slowly getting more and more regular. “That’s it, just clear your head.” He knows it might be too much to ask, but Sherlock doesn’t snort and mock, and John’s confidence builds up. He lets his fingers trail higher, fingertips brushing Sherlock’s shoulder and bare neck, and this time he’s the one shivering. Sherlock still isn’t reacting, and it takes another minute for John to realise he’s already sleeping.

John doesn’t let go, not just yet. He keeps his fingers pressed against Sherlock’s pulse point and closes his eyes. He lets Sherlock’s steady heartbeat calm his own pounding one and reluctantly gets to his feet again. He takes one last look at Sherlock before heading out of the room.

He tries to busy himself with a new book and some tea, and settles in his chair with a sigh. The intrigue in itself is good, and the mystery realistic enough, but John’s mind is constantly coming back to the sleeping detective in the next room. Maybe he should have stayed with him, made sure he won’t wake up in much more pain and not be able to call for help. _Stop_. He has his phone, he’ll find a way to communicate. He always does.

John is not sure how many pages he manage to read before his phone chimes again, and he surprises himself with how fast he picks it up.

 

**received / 16:02**

Thirsty. SH

 

Laughing out loud, John sets his book down and pours them both a glass of water. He makes sure to bring a straw for Sherlock and knocks on his door, “Coming in.”

Sherlock is sitting up on his bed, and he doesn’t look up when John hands him his glass. John watches closely as he takes the straw between his lips, and drinks his own water slowly. “Slept alright?” Sherlock gives a slight nod and sets his glass down on the bedside table. He picks up the notebook and writes down;

_Yard?_

“Just going to tell Mrs Hudson to check on Rosie in case she wakes up, and then we can go.”

 _Don’t forget to give Mrs Hudson the new formula we bought the other day_.

John smiles, “Yes, will do.”

Sherlock stands up, the bandage making him look ten times more vulnerable, and looks around the room. He stops on John and they remain standing like this for long seconds. John wants to ask if he’s alright but finds he can’t speak, not right now. He feels Sherlock  even more present than usual, the silence between them stretching into something almost comfortable. John tears his eyes away before Sherlock can deduce his elevated heartbeat and rapidly flushing cheeks.

By the time they head downstairs and out, it occurs to him that Sherlock still hasn’t mentioned how he helped him to sleep earlier.


	2. Chapter 2

Lestrade is already grinning when they arrive at the Yard. John rolls his eyes as Sherlock takes out his phone angrily, probably already texting some sharp remarks about the coffee stain on Lestrade’s tie. He can’t repress a laugh when Lestrade does pull out his phone and declares, “It doesn’t matter, Sherlock, this is just too funny.”

Sherlock exhales loudly through his nose, his apparent new way of showing how annoyed he is, and John hurries to reply, “Don’t, it’s really painful you know.”

Lestrade shakes his head, patting Sherlock on the shoulder and sighing, “I’m sorry mate, but I really need you on this one.” Sherlock doesn’t need any words to explain the bored look on his face, _as usual._ Lestrade ignores him entirely. “We’ve managed to keep the suspect that punched you in custody yesterday but without any proof, we had to release him this morning.”

Sherlock emits a frustrated groan, waving both hands in the air signaling a clear _you’re all idiots_ and even Lestrade seems to get it. He turns to John, “Does he do this now?”

John, too busy smiling at Sherlock, comes back to reality and frowns, “This?”

“Communicate with groans?” Lestrade explains, still ignoring Sherlock’s glare.

John laughs lightly, earning a glare too, “It seems so, yes.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes and leaves the room, leaving both of them behind. John watches him head for the evidence room and shakes his head slowly at Sherlock’s childish behavior. Some things never change apparently, and thank God for that.

“Is he really in a lot of pain?” Lestrade asks after a long minute of silence.

“Yes,” John sighs. “I can’t give him too many painkillers because of, you know, drugs, so he has to deal with the pain other ways.”

Lestrade gives him a puzzled look, “Other ways?”

John shrugs, still remembering the feeling of Sherlock’s body relaxing under his touch, “We’re still trying to figure this out, actually.”

Lestrade nods, looking back to where Sherlock just disappeared, “I can’t imagine what it must be like. Sherlock, unable to talk. A nightmare, surely.”

John shakes his head, “Not so much,” he replies in a breath, wondering how he could possibly explain the feeling he had just minutes ago, sharing a cab in total silence as Sherlock texted him facts about their driver. It had been hard not to laugh out loud, not to stare, not to breathe just how brilliant he was against Sherlock’s skin.

His phone chimed and John knows already who it is.

**received / 16:44**

What are you doing over there? We have a case to solve. SH

"Better go,” John smiles, suddenly very much needing to be in the same room as Sherlock.

Lestrade follows him without a word, and they find Sherlock engrossed in files. The bandage is making the picture just a bit funnier than usual, and John finds it hard to stop smiling as he goes to join him. He notices the notebook just next to Sherlock’s hand and the few lines written there already.

 

_What took you so long?_

_We need to find our suspect again, he’ll have moved since this morning._

_I could have been dying over here and you wouldn’t have known._

_Coffee?_

 

Pushing away the sudden urge to press himself against Sherlock’s body and make him understand that he can’t say that, can’t leave him, can’t ever, ever leave again, John closes his eyes for the briefest moment before saying, “You can’t drink hot beverages, Sherlock.”

Sherlock exhales loudly again, grabbing his pen again and writing quickly.

 

_This is beyond dull, and you know it._

 

“Sorry,” John smiles. “Just a week to go and then we’ll get a coffee from that place on Montague Street.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes but doesn’t look away from him, the two of them standing there without being able to properly talk, and yet John hopes he’s reading the amusement on Sherlock’s face right.

Lestrade clears his throat behind them, and John promptly looks back down at the notebook, cursing himself for being caught like this. He can still feel Sherlock’s eyes on him as he says, “Sherlock wrote that our suspect must have moved, so we need to get a hold on him again, and soon.”

Lestrade makes an agreeing noise, “Alright, my team is digging into his family and connections, maybe there’s something there which could tell us where he went.”

Sherlock straightens up, taking the notebook with him and walking close to Lestrade before showing it to him.

“Well, that’s not news coming from you,” he declares after reading, and Sherlock writes some more. “Just called me an idiot,” Lestrade explains, shrugging.

John is about to reply when Sherlock throws him the notebook, “Wow, careful.” Sherlock waves a hand in the air, humming a probable _I knew you’d catch it_ and John licks his lips with a stupid sense of pride as he reads what Sherlock just wrote.

 

_He’s going to try and cover his tracks. We need to go back to the crime scene, now._

 

“Crime scene,” John says out loud for Lestrade.

With a sigh, the DI shows them to the door, “Let’s go then.”

Sherlock is already heading out, walking in front of them in great strides. John tries - he really does - not to let his eyes linger down his back and, god, his arse. This is quite unfair, really, to be able to look and never to touch. Damn the early spring and Sherlock’s tendency to leave his coat at the flat, because now there isn’t any excuse not to notice the way his suit fits his thighs just perfectly. Worse still, the new suits Sherlock has recently acquired fit him perfectly, all of them making it more and more difficult to ignore the desperate need to reach out and peel each layer off Sherlock’s body.

“Mate, you’re staring,” Lestrade whispers to him as they arrive at the lift.

John tears his eyes away from Sherlock’s figure and looks at him in horror, “What?”

Lestrade laughs, just the tiniest sound, but there is not a chance Sherlock hasn’t heard. “You’re staring,” Lestrade murmurs again, “and you’re not even being subtle about it.”

John rubs a hand over his nape, pondering if he should deny it all or not. “I-” he starts before sighing, “Fuck.”

Lestrade gives him a knowing look, both of them having now joined Sherlock by the lift. John composes himself before looking at him, reading the silent question in his eyes and only shrugging, “It’s nothing.”

Lestrade is looking at his phone, probably trying not to let Sherlock read any of what happened on his face, and John thanks him silently. Sherlock takes out his own phone, and John does the same, waiting.

**received / 16:55**

What was Lestrade saying? SH

John tries his best not to betray himself as he replies

**received / 16:55**

Nothing important.

**received / 16:56**

Seemed important. SH

John licks his lower lip, staring at his phone and definitely not at Sherlock.

**received / 16:56**

He just made a stupid comment, that’s all.

Something close to a grunt echoes in the lift and Lestrade starts to laugh, “I’m loving this,” he says, looking at Sherlock who’s glaring at him, no words needed to understand exactly what he thinks.

“It’s only a week,” John says, happy to see Sherlock isn’t texting him back. He can’t deal with this now, and there’s a high chance Sherlock will bring it up again later, but until then, he’ll have time to think up a lie.

They make it to the crime scene quite quickly, and Sherlock spends the entire ride making small noises while staring outside the window. Lestrade is biting his lip when they finally arrive, and John knows exactly what he’s thinking. It’s not as if he hasn’t thought the same thing the entire time. The noises… well, it wasn’t difficult to imagine in which other situation Sherlock could be making them.

“Piss off,” John says under his breath as he catches Lestrade’s eyes.

“Haven’t said anything, mate,” Lestrade smiles.

Sherlock eyes them suspiciously, and John clears his throat, “Let’s go?” He doesn’t wait for Sherlock to either take out his phone or his notebook and heads towards the police line.  

The moment Sherlock kneels down next to the first clue, John realises this is going to be a _no sleep, no food_ kind of case. He already suspected after yesterday, but combined with the pain of his jaw, there is no chance Sherlock is going to take it easy. He’s not sure how long they stay there, Sherlock unable to bounce ideas off him anymore but still waving his hands in the air and pacing all around the crime scene. He only picks up his phone four times, two of them to tell Lestrade to go home if he intends to keep yawning, which he does when the sun starts to set. John waits until Mrs Hudson calls before saying they need to go, and even then Sherlock follows absently, still lost inside his own head.

The ride home is entirely silent, and Sherlock all but falls onto the sofa the second they get inside 221B. Rosie is laughing happily, and John plays with her as long as he can before taking care of dinner. With no replies from Sherlock, he eats just with Rosie, trying to teach her how to use her spoon without throwing food everywhere.

“We can try again tomorrow,” he says, smiling as he picks her up and ignores the mess on the table. He bathes her and gets her ready for bed quickly, already feeling tired from his day, and wanting nothing more but to finally sleep. By the time he heads back downstairs clad in his pajamas and Rosie fast asleep, Sherlock still hasn’t moved a finger.

“Are you eating?” He asks, sitting on the coffee table. No reaction. “Sherlock?” Nothing. “I’m going to sleep, try to do the same.”

He picks up Sherlock’s notebook and writes quickly,

 

_You can take two more pills before going to bed._

_And do try to sleep. - John._

 

Another ten minutes and he can finally slide under the covers, letting out a deep sigh and closing his eyes. He listens to Rosie’s regular breathing for a moment, focusing on her and her only, but finding he can’t stop himself from remembering the feeling of Sherlock’s skin under his fingers the previous night. When sleep finally overtakes him, it’s to fantasies of more skin, much more skin.

It takes a long moment for John to realise he isn’t sleeping anymore, and that yes, there is another body in his bed. “Sherlock?” He calls automatically, already worried. “Everything’s alright?” Sherlock is staring at him, lying on his side, and nods slowly. John turns so he can face him, slowly becoming used to the darkness and continues, “Rosie?” Sherlock shakes his head before going still again. John represses a yawn, not sure what to say exactly, having too many questions for someone who can’t reply. “Still hurting?” he finally chooses to ask, already knowing the answer. Sherlock only closes his eyes, exhaling loudly through his nose.

John hesitates, trying not to focus too much on Sherlock’s warmth or proximity, “Have you taken your pills?” Sherlock looks back at him, nodding. John knows the next question he should ask, the one on the tip of his tongue, but can’t bring himself to say anything. He looks away instead, staring at the distance between them, and slowly reaches for Sherlock’s wrist. He tentatively resumes the movement he started earlier, slowly tracing up and down Sherlock’s forearm and he hears him exhale quietly. John keeps his touch light, not wanting to ruin whatever they’re creating at this very moment, and after another second, he dares to look up again.

Sherlock is still staring.

“I wish I could find a way to make it easier,” John murmurs.

Sherlock’s eyes flutter closed, a painful look on his face, and John slides closer. He lets his hand move higher, finding Sherlock’s shoulder and then, neck. He stops there, waiting, barely breathing really. Sherlock is still completely still, and John swipes his thumbs across his pulse point slowly. “Can I try something?” He whispers, and Sherlock shifts just a little, giving him his silent agreement. Closing his own eyes, John breathes out deeply before placing both hands around Sherlock’s face, thumbs against temples, fingers through soft curls. He starts to massage Sherlock’s temples softly, just the right pressure and doesn’t dare yet to open his eyes.

This, _right there_ , this is the closest he has ever felt to Sherlock. Without a word, John lets him know just how sorry, how helpless he feels. Without a word, he makes sure Sherlock realises he’s not alone. Without a word, he tells Sherlock all he never dared to speak out before.

Rosie’s breathing is echoing in the room, and soon John starts to discern Sherlock’s too, so very quiet. He focuses all his attention on it, adjusting his own to it and letting his entire body relax. He can’t pass to Sherlock all of his own stress, not if he wants to help him push the pain aside. They need to be one, to connect in a way that will allow Sherlock to clear his mind and sleep. Earlier the pain was still new and the painkillers from the hospital made it easy to drift away, but now, _now_ Sherlock needs him in a completely different way.

John exhales softly, feeling Sherlock’s own breath brushing his face and he realises he must have been drifting closer and closer. His lips curling into a smile, John moves his hands from Sherlock’s temples to his hair, threading his fingers through the curls properly and massaging slowly. Sherlock’s entire body shudders under the touch, and a quiet sound escapes him, low in his throat. John licks his lips, putting all his effort to the task, and letting his fingers explore Sherlock’s scalp. He takes in the softness, the way each curl seems to roll around his fingers and commits all of it to memory.

He can feel Sherlock’s body starting to melt into the mattress, slowly becoming less and less rigid, more and more relaxed, and soon there is no doubt he’s fallen asleep. John doesn’t stop, simply opening his eyes and staring at him. He lets his hands slide down again, temple, cheeks, bandage and neck. He stops there, one thumb finding Sherlock’s lower lip and tracing it slowly. He licks his own, wondering what if would be like to press their mouths together, to let Sherlock relax into a kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers to the quiet room. “I love you and I wish I knew how to deserve you, Sherlock Holmes.” Refusing to let go yet, John closes his eyes, breathing in slowly. “I’m so sorry, Sherlock. For everything. I know we talked about it before, I know you said we needed to move forward, but I’m so sorry for what I did to you, again and again.”  

Slowly, John rolls to his back, letting both hands fall back to his sides. He hates the way his entire body can’t seem to stop shivering, hates the sudden pain in his shoulder and the knot forming in his chest. Being in the same bed as Sherlock Holmes shouldn’t feel like this. He should be able to bring Sherlock closer and hold him, let him know that he’s there and that he’ll remain there as long as Sherlock wants him. He should be able to kiss those sealed lips and whisper that it’ll get better, that they’ll manage, together. He should be falling asleep with the certainty of waking up with Sherlock in his arms.

Turning his head to face him again, John lets himself smile as he murmurs, “Good night, Sherlock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not certain how many chapters this fic will be after all, so I'm leaving a ? for now. It might end up being much longer than first expected, so we will see!
> 
> Thank you for all your kudos and comments <3
> 
> Pauline.


	3. Chapter 3

The entire situation is starting to become rather ridiculous.

John watches in disbelief as Sherlock continues to pin paper after paper on the wall above the sofa, grunts, groans and loud sighs echoing in the room. It’s been like this for the past three days, and John is starting to think Sherlock is slowly but surely losing his mind. It’s not the first time that a case turned out to be long and difficult, but this is another level entirely. Since that morning when John woke up to Sherlock still sleeping in his bed, Sherlock had decided to stop taking his painkillers, proclaiming that they were making him sleepy and stopped him from focusing on the case. John hadn’t said anything, knowing Sherlock would eventually change his mind because of the pain, but he is still waiting. He’s fairly certain Sherlock isn’t sleeping either, or at least he hasn’t joined him in bed ever since.

John had tried not to overthink it too much. He was sure Sherlock hadn’t heard his quiet confession, but then he wonders if he had crossed a line by helping him get to sleep the way he did. He hadn’t meant to touch him that much, to dare offer a scalp massage, but Sherlock had looked so vulnerable right then that John couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Surely Sherlock would have said something by now if he hadn’t liked it, right?

A loud bang brings him back to reality, and John hurries to go pick up Rosie from where she fell on her back, “What were you doing sweetheart?” He asks, kissing her temple and holding her close. She isn’t crying, but her hand is gripping his shirt and John kisses her again. “Trying to walk?” Sherlock makes an agreeing noise, and John looks up at him, still standing on the sofa. “Was she really?”

Sherlock glances at him, nodding before focusing back on the wall. John smiles, nuzzling his nose in Rosie’s hair and saying, “You’re growing up way too fast, you know that.”

His phone chimes, and John only has to look up again to know Sherlock is the one sending it. With another smile, he begins to read the message.

**received / 17:02**

She’s not, John. She’s even a bit late considering her age.SH

Smiling, John sets Rosie back on the floor, “If you’re listening to us, then get down off that sofa and come take a walk in the park.”

**received / 17:02**

I’m busy, John. SH

John sighs, “You’ve been staring at that wall for hours now, take a break.”

**received / 17:03**

Busy. SH

Refusing to fight, John puts his phone back in his pocket before saying, “Fine. I’m taking Rosie.” Sherlock doesn’t move as John gathers everything he needs before heading downstairs. His phone chimes twice on his way to the park, but he refuses to check it yet. If Sherlock has decided to ignore him, then he can do the same.

Rosie laughs happily all the way to the park, pointing at the sky and mumbling to herself. John inhales deeply, letting the noise of the city calm him down. It’s stupid, and he probably just needs some time away from home, from all the mess inside his own head. Who could have known a quiet Sherlock would make it even worse to keep all the things he wishes to say locked up. Last night had been a mistake, he shouldn’t have said any of it, it was too risky. What if Sherlock had heard?

His phone chimes once more as he sits down on one of the benches, letting Rosie play in the grass next to him, and John pulls it out with a sigh.

**received / 17:07**

Up for a pint tonight? Greg

**received / 17:09**

I wanted to apologize about the other day. Greg

**received / 17:13**

Everything’s alright? Greg

John hurries to reply,

**sent / 17:14**

Sorry I was walking to the park. And don’t worry about the other day. Can’t do tonight, another time?

He barely has the time to give Rosie some of her toys before his phone chimes again.

**received / 17:15**

Where are you, I’ll bring you a coffee.

John quickly texts his reply, actually looking forward to a warm coffee and a good talk. Lestrade arrives not more than fifteen minutes later with a grin on his face. He kneels down to kiss Rosie before sitting next to him, “Still hot,” he says, handing John his coffee.

“Thanks mate,” John smiles, warming his hands around the paper cup.

“How are you?” Lestrade asks.

John considers his answer for a moment, not sure what he wants to say, what he needs to say, or even what he  _ can _ say, but Lestrade is giving him a friendly smile, “I meant it, you know, I’m sorry about the other day.”

John shakes his head, “It’s nothing.”

“I…” Lestrade begins, rubbing a hand over his nape. “I thought you two were… you know, together already.”

John looks back up at him, “What?”

“The way you looked at him,” Lestrade says, “I mean, I’ve seen you stare at him before, but never like this.”

John’s fingers tighten around his cup, “What do you mean?”

Lestrade sighs, looking up at the sky before glancing at him, “I don’t know, it seemed as if you were looking and at the same time, you were making it clear to everyone else that Sherlock was yours.”

John can’t help the nervous laugh that escapes him, “He’s not mi- … I mean, we’re not together.”

Lestrade stares at him in silence for a long moment, “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

John shakes his head, “No I’m sorry, it’s just….” he stops, not certain what he’s trying to say anyway. They remain silent for another minute or so, Rosie playing with Lestrade coat. John inhales deeply, feeling strangely clam as he finally says, “I want us to be.” Another nervous laugh as Lestrade sighs, “But I guess that much is obvious.”

Lestrade smiles gently at him, “You could say that, yes.”

John looks down at Rosie, wondering what she would grow to be, what she would say when she realises her dad is desperately in love with her… what, uncle? John lets out a loud sigh, cradling his head in his hands, “I’m so fucked.”

“I wouldn’t say so,” Lestrade replies, bumping their shoulders together. “I mean, yes, you’re in love with Sherlock Holmes and that is one hell of a man, but other than that, I’d say it’s quite amazing.”

John frowns, “Amazing?”

“Yeah,” Lestrade says, his smile growing wider. “I remember the first time Sherlock brought you to a crime scene, you were limping and barely even spoke, not sure what you were doing there.”

“That’s because I had truly had no idea,” John says, unable to repress a smile at the memory.

“You were there because Sherlock saw something in you, and it must have been something pretty extraordinary because that was the first time I ever saw him interact with someone else because he wanted to, truly wanted to.” Lestrade closes his eyes, sighing loudly, “I had never seen him like that, John.”

John’s entire body shivers as he thinks back to that first night, how he had wanted to push Sherlock against the nearest wall and kiss the breath out of him. Sometimes he still wonders if he should have, if it would have changed everything, if it would have prevented Sherlock from taking that jump. “That was a long time ago, Greg,” he sighs again, “Things… So much has happened since then.”

Lestrade shrugs, “Maybe. Yes, I agree, you two seriously need to learn how to talk, but I wouldn’t say the easiest option is to give up entirely.”

John looks back at him, “That’s easy to say.”

“John,” Lestrade says, sounding all too serious all of the sudden, “I can’t tell you what to do, just like I can’t make Sherlock do anything, but please, ask yourself one question: what you two could become, isn’t it worth at least a try?”

_ Of course it bloody is, _ John almost replies. “What about losing what we are now?” he asks instead.

Lestrade doesn’t reply right away, eyeing him carefully for a long second before saying, his voice almost a whisper, “It’s not just you I watch, John.”

“What’s that supposed to me- Oh.” John wants to ask, wants to force him to say exactly what Lestrade sees when he watches Sherlock, but knows he won’t get an answer. “You…” he begins, but stops.

“I should go,” Lestrade says, “I have to go back to work anyway.” He stands up, stretching, before looking back at him. “You should talk to him, John. Really.”

John nods, finding it hard to breathe all of the sudden. Lestrade smiles, bending down to stroke Rosie’s hair before whispering a quiet goodbye. John doesn’t reply, staring at the void in front of him, and wondering what he should do exactly.  _ Talk to him _ . How is he even supposed to do that?

Rosie finds his leg, tugging a few times and holding her arms up when he looks down at her. “Alright sweetheart,” he smiles, picking her up before gathering up all of her toys. “Let’s go home.”

He takes his time all the way back to Baker Street, stopping at Sherlock’s favorite Chinese place to buy some soup for tonight. He’s not letting him spend another meal without eating, even if he has to feed him himself. He’ll have to find a way to make him sleep tonight too. Rosie laughs in his arms as he lets out another loud sigh, “Keep laughing, young lady, you clearly haven’t seen a sleep deprived Sherlock before.”

Rosie ignores him entirely, trying to catch what looks like a hair on his shoulder, and John smiles as he leans in to kiss her. She starts to wiggle in his arms when 221B appears in sight, and John prepares himself for what promises to be an interesting evening as he unlocks the door. The flat is quiet, much too quiet, and he hurries up the stairs. He sets Rosie down after opening the door, and lets out a relieved sigh as he catches sight of Sherlock sitting in his chair.

He looks up at soon as John closes the door, and his eyes pin him right where he is. John swallows with difficulty, “Everything’s alright?” Sherlock doesn’t move, barely nods, and yet John gets it.  _ Fine, just sulking apparently _ . “I met up with Lestrade,” he says, forcing himself to walk to the kitchen before Sherlock can read too much on his face. “Bought some soup for tonight too.”

He jumps with surprise as Sherlock’s notebook falls down the kitchen table. John turns around to find him now sitting in one of the chairs, nodding towards the notebook. John takes it slowly,

_ I’m not hungry. _

John sighs, “You have to eat, Sherlock.”

Sherlock grabs his pen, _ I have to focus on the case. The rest is just transport. _

“Stop that,” John says, “I’ve stopped believing this lie a long time ago, and you know it.” Sherlock sighs. “I’m worried about you.”

_ Why? I’m fine. _

“Clearly you’re not,” John replies, giving Rosie her bottle. “I know you’re in pain bu-”

Sherlock stops him with a groan, writing something quickly,  _ It doesn’t hurt anymore, John. It’s just dull at this point. _

John shakes his head, smiling softly, “Just three more days.”

_ You could take it off, the bandage. _

“Not doing that, no,” John replies. “And if it doesn’t hurt, you have absolutely no excuse not to sleep.”

_ The case _ , Sherlock writes with a pointed look.

“Not a good enough excuse anymore,” John replies. He turns his back to him before Sherlock can protest, and steps to the microwave to heat up the soup, “You’re eating tonight, Sherlock Holmes, and sleeping too.” He hears another grunt, followed by a sigh and the familiar sound of pen on paper. Sherlock gets up, setting the notebook next to John’s hand.

_ I can’t sleep, John _ .

John’s breath catches for the briefest of seconds, and he slowly looks back up at Sherlock standing next to him. Sherlock isn’t looking at him, his eyes fixed on the words he just wrote, and John wants to bury his face against his neck and breathe him in. He wants to ask why, wants to tell him that it’s alright, that he hasn’t been sleeping well either since that night they fell asleep together.

“You said it doesn’t hurt anymore,” John breathes out.

Sherlock shrugs, not looking at him, and John licks his lips. Not because of the case, not because of the pain.

“Do you-” he starts before finding it hard to finish his sentence. Sherlock still isn’t looking at him. “I could-” John tries again, but the microwave chimes, startling them both. John clears his throat, “It’s ready.”

Sherlock glances at him, and for a moment, neither of them look away.  _ I could help you again, _ John thinks.  _ I could lie down with you, make it easier to close your eyes and forget about everything else _ . Sherlock leans in, so very close, and John inhales sharply, not sure what he’s supposed to do exactly, but then Sherlock is grabbing his notebook again and pulling away.  _ For god’s sake, pull it together Watson. _

John forces himself to move, removing soup from the microwave and setting it on the table. He goes to fetch a straw for Sherlock, and two bowls. By the time he’s sitting down, Sherlock’s notebook is back on the table.

_ Yes, I’d like that. _

John looks sharply up at him, certain that his question is showing on his face, and Sherlock doesn’t look away. They remain like this for a long moment, not moving, not speaking, and yet, John feels as if they’ve just said more than they ever have in months. He’s not sure how long they stare at each other, but when Rosie starts to make herself known again, it takes a few seconds for John to tear his eyes away from Sherlock’s. He sets her down quickly, allowing her a few minutes to play before getting her ready for bed, and he smiles as he catches Sherlock drinking his soup quickly. He makes quick work of his own supper, suddenly desperate to go to bed.

“I’ll bath her and then we can...” he clears his throat, “we can get ready for bed.”

Sherlock pushes his bowl away, standing up to take Rosie in his arms and nodding toward the bathroom. “Yes, alright,” John smiles and watches as they both disappear inside the bathroom.

_ God, look what you’ve done to me, Sherlock Holmes _ .

He tries to busy himself while listening to Rosie laughing in the next room, as well as some humming from Sherlock. He washes the dishes slowly, wondering where Sherlock would like to fall asleep tonight. Sherlock’s room seems like the most logical choice, with Rosie sleeping in his. John closes his eyes, breathing out deeply and trying not to smile like a bloody idiot. Yes, he’s about to sleep in Sherlock’s bed, and yes,  _ maybe _ , this is the beginning of something more, but he has to keep it under control.

“Christ,” he curses silently, feeling something very, very warm spread throughout his body.

The sound of Sherlock’s footsteps bring him back to reality, and John turns around to walk towards them. Rosie is smiling wildly, one hand clenched in Sherlock’s suit. John kisses her softly, his cheek brushing Sherlock’s jaw. “Good night, love,” he whispers.

Sherlock is looking at him when he pulls away, and John smiles at him, “I’ll get ready. You put her down?” Sherlock nods, and for a instant, John is certain he’s going to say something despite the bandage, but he walks away with one last nod.

John takes a shower, changing into his pajamas and brushing his teeth. Sherlock comes back downstairs as he’s leaving the bathroom, and John stops in the doorframe. “I’ll wait for you in there?” He asks, nodding toward Sherlock’s bedroom. Sherlock hums, the sound low and deep, and it takes all of John’s will not to close his eyes and lean into him. He quickly walks away instead, closing the curtains and pacing around Sherlock’s bedroom as the sound of the shower fills the room. He can’t think of Sherlock in there, not now, definitely not. Now is not the time to screw it up just because every inch of his body craves to be pressed against Sherlock’s.

The moment the water stops running, John freezes. He can’t just stand there. He looks around him, desperate to just be  _ doing _ something, and all but throws himself on the mattress. He picks up his phone, opening his email and trying to regulate his breathing. It takes another moment for Sherlock to join him, and then John slowly raises his eyes towards him. _ Fuck _ ,  _ he’s beautiful _ . John looks away quickly, certain he’s blushing like a bloody teenager, and listens as Sherlock walks to the bed. He remains standing there for a second or two before slipping under the covers next to him. John exhales softly, putting his phone away and lies back down.

Sherlock makes a quiet noise before turning the lights off, and all of the sudden, John can’t seem to be able to remember how to breathe. He waits, not exactly sure what for, and repress a startled sound as Sherlock’s feet bump into his under the covers. Slowly, John turns to face him, lying on his side and finding Sherlock doing the same. They stare at each other, John letting his eyes detail every inch of Sherlock’s face, lingering on his lips as he licks his own. Sherlock’s breath catches, and John looks back up.

“Lestrade and I talked about our first case,” he finds himself saying, the words spilling out on their own volition. Sherlock frowns for a moment, and John smiles. “He asked me if I remember how I was back then.” Sherlock’s eyes drop to his shoulder, then lower before moving back up. He makes a questioning noise, lips moving without a single word coming out.  “I told him I remember, of course,” John continues, voice lower now. “How can I not. I was so alone, Sherlock.”

Sherlock shifts closer, another sound escaping him, almost sad, and John smiles softly, “But you saw that, didn’t you? You saw just how broken I was and decided to save me.”

Sherlock remains silent before nodding slowly, one hand reaching for him and finding his forearm. John looks down as one of Sherlock’s fingers start to tap against his skin, morse code _.  _ John smiles, focusing on the quiet message.

_ You too. _

John frowns. Sherlock’s finger taps another message.

_ Saved me. _

John stares at him, breathing out deeply and feeling Sherlock’s hand slide lower, taking his. Slowly, John lets him lace their fingers together, and Sherlock brings their joined hands up to his face and then his hair. The silent question in his eyes makes John’s heart beat just little faster. “Like this?” He whispers and Sherlock shakes his head, watching him for another second before rolling to his other side, letting go of his hand. John shifts closer, his chest almost pressed to Sherlock’s back, and lets his fingers slide in and out of the soft curls. He hears Sherlock breathe out loudly, a relieved sound that makes John smile, and he slowly starts to massage his scalp. Sherlock is shivering, leaning into John’s touch, and it takes all of John’s self control not to kiss his nape.

He’s not certain how long he lets his fingers brush back and forth, feeling Sherlock relax more and more. When John realises he himself is slowly falling asleep, he lets his fingers slowly slide down Sherlock’s head, neck and arms, stopping there. Sherlock hums sleepily, leaning back until he’s pressed against him, and John snakes one hand around his waist. He closes his eyes, smiling, and with Sherlock’s scent filling his head, he whispers, “Would it have been different if I had kissed you that very first night?”

He only has the time to feel Sherlock squeeze his hand before falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit longer than the first two, and I'm already writing the next one. I'm going back to work tomorrow, but I'll try to keep the updates close!
> 
> Thank you for all the love on this story,  
> Pauline.


	4. Chapter 4

John wakes up warm.

It only takes a few seconds to remember where he is, and with a lazy smile he tightens his grip around Sherlock’s waist. He’s lying on his back now, Sherlock’s head nuzzled against his neck and their legs tangled together. Closing his eyes, John allows himself to breathe Sherlock in, to bury his nose inside those lovely, tempting curls and let the all too familiar scent calm his pounding heart. He lets the feeling sink in, yes, he’s in Sherlock’s bed and yes he’s holding him close. Repressing a laugh, John slides one hand down Sherlock’s back and stops there. He knows he’ll have to explain himself, to face the consequences of his whispered question the night before, but somehow, it doesn’t alarm him.

He knows it should, after all the years he’s spent trying to keep it all inside, it should terrify him to know he finally let it slip out. Sherlock heard, that much is certain. If his quiet confession four days ago had remained just that, John knows he can’t just get away with this one. And that’s alright. He’ll tell Sherlock. He’ll tell him just how he wished he had kissed him that night. He’ll tell him about all the other times he wished he had sealed their lips together and let himself be brave. He’ll tell him how much he still wants to kiss him, to taste all of him. It’s alright, because he’s in love, desperately so with this brilliant man sleeping in his arms, and it’s about time he starts to truly, truly, be happy.

The first echoes of Rosie’s crying coming from upstairs make Sherlock stir in his arms, and John smiles into his hair. He doesn’t let go, not yet. He doesn’t want to go until Sherlock is awake, doesn’t want him to wake in an empty bed. He waits a second, two, three before Sherlock starts to realise the position he’s in. Repressing another laugh, John breathes out slowly as Sherlock pulls away to look up at him. They don’t say a word, eyes meeting and breath mixing in the middle. John feels his lips curl into an even wider smile, and Sherlock closes his eyes, brushing his nose against John’s jaw.

“Good morning,” John whispers, finding the courage to lean in and kiss Sherlock’s eyebrow.

Sherlock lets out a quiet sound, almost a moan, and John’s eyes flutter closed. God, how he wishes he could stay here for hours upon hours. Another loud cry from upstairs forces them both to pull away again, and if Sherlock keeps his own eyes closed, John makes sure to engrave into his memory this very moment before letting go. “I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, watching as Sherlock rolls to his side, eyes open again. John reaches for him, brushing one curl off his forehead. “Alright?”

Sherlock nods quickly, and John smiles before getting up, feeling Sherlock’s eyes on him all the way out of the room. He hurries to get Rosie, greeting her with too many kisses and she smashes her toy on his head a few times before he agrees to let her be. She mumbles to herself as he changes her, choosing the outfit Sherlock loves the most (even if he would never say so) and whispers, “Today is going to be a good day, sweetheart.” Rosie makes an agreeing noise, pointing towards the door, and John laughs, “Yes, come on, let’s go find Sherlock.”

Turns out Sherlock is still in bed, and John pulls the door open again slowly, “Sherlock, everything’s okay?” Receiving no answer, he takes a peek inside only to find Sherlock fast asleep, now lying on the side of the bed John was on earlier. Smiling to himself, John pulls the covers back over him properly and whispers, “Told you you needed to sleep.” Sherlock doesn’t stir, his breathing echoing in the room, and John leans down, letting his lips brush his temple softly. “I love you.”

He makes his way back out quietly, closing the door and taking Rosie to the living room, “We’ll have our breakfast here this morning,” he explains, “Sherlock needs to sleep.” Rosie looks at him with wide eyes, surely expecting her bottle soon, and John settles on the sofa before giving it to her. He watches in silence as she drinks, her eyes fluttering back closed again, and soon he’s the only one awake in the flat. He carries Rosie to her bed, knowing she’ll be up soon enough, and then proceeds to get dressed. He does his best not to make any noise, but when he hears his phone chime downstairs, John is fairly sure he’s never descended the stairs so fast before.

Forcing himself not to act like a teenager, he takes a deep breath before reaching for his phone and glancing at Sherlock’s name on the screen.

 **received / 08:04**  
John? SH

John sits on the sofa, typing quickly.

 **sent / 08:04**  
Yes?

 **received / 08:05**  
You asked me something yesterday. SH

John swallows, his mouth suddenly dry.

 **sent / 08:05**  
I did, yes.

 **received / 08:06**  
I have an answer for you. SH

 **sent / 08:06**  
Yes?

The wait for Sherlock’s next text is beginning to stretch into eternity as John slowly starts to lose his mind. He almost jumps as his phone chimes, and then practically drops it in his hurry to read Sherlock’s reply. “Christ, get it together,” he whispers.

 **received / 08:09**  
Yes. It would have been different. SH

John licks his lips, typing carefully,

 **received / 08:10**  
Different in a good way?

Another eternity passes.

 **received / 08:12**  
Obviously, yes. SH

John is about to text back, surely something stupid that would make Sherlock roll his eyes and come out to correct him, when his phone rings in his hand. _Lestrade_. John hurries to answer, trying his best to sound natural.

“Greg?”

Lestrade lets out a relieved sigh, “John, thank God, at least you answer! I need you two at the Yard, now!”

John frowns, “What is it?”

“The man that punched Sherlock,” Lestrade replies, “The main suspect, we’ve just caught him on video. We need to hurry before he disappears again.”

John is already walking to Sherlock’s bedroom, “We’ll be there, give us fifteen minutes.”

“Alright, yeah, hurry up.”

John hangs up quickly, knocking on Sherlock’s door and pushing it open slowly. Sherlock is sitting on the bed, something bright and vulnerable in his eyes, and John hates that he’s not coming into the room only to tell him just how brilliant and magnificent and beautiful he is. It only takes a second for Sherlock to register there’s something wrong, and with a single raise of his eyebrow, the entire atmosphere shifts.

“Lestrade just called,” John says quickly, “They’ve got your suspect, but we have to hurry.”

Sherlock nods, already getting to his feet and heading for the wardrobe. John watches, unable to stop himself, as he starts to undress before cursing silently and stepping back through the door, closing it behind him. He climbs the stairs to his room, grabbing his gun without waking Rosie and quickly goes down to 221A. Mrs. Hudson reassures him immediately that she’ll look out for Rosie while they’re gone, and that he doesn’t need to worry.

“Be careful,” she tells him with a concerned smile, “Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“We won’t,” John assures her, “Thank you again.”

Sherlock is already putting on his coat when John gets back upstairs, and they exchange a quick look. John has a flash of remembrance to the feeling of Sherlock’s body pressed against his, and he clears his throat silently. They can talk, well, discuss this later. _I’m not giving up on what we just started, Sherlock._

A groan forces John to look back up, finding Sherlock’s eyes fixed on him, silent questions dancing over his face. He shakes his head, smiling, “Ready?” Sherlock nods, and with his heart beating just a little too fast, John follows him down the stairs.

Somehow the cabbie manages to get them to the Yard much faster than usual, and Sherlock is already out and running giving John barely the time to pay. Lestrade, of course, is already waiting for them.

“He was seen exiting a bank forty minutes ago,” he explains as soon as they’re close enough. “Two of my men were nearby and they’ve been following him, but it’s only a question of time before he notices them.”

Sherlock hums, pulling out his notebook and writing something quickly.

_He’s probably armed. Do you have your gun?_

John glances at Lestrade before nodding. The DI knows about the gun, or at least John thinks he does, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s a cop and could get in serious trouble if his superiors found out that he knew. Sherlock doesn’t seem to mind, already gesturing towards the door and rolling his eyes as Lestrade says they need to wait for Sally. John tries to regulate his breathing, not to let adrenaline take over him. He needs to focus, needs to be certain this man isn’t going to get near Sherlock again.

Another loud groan from Sherlock makes him laugh, earning himself a glare from the man. “Sorry,” John apologizes quickly, “But I’ll never get used to you groaning all the time like that.” Sherlock rolls his eyes again, moaning in impatience this time, and that is a sound John could get used to.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Sally says as she runs up to them, “Miller said he stopped at a coffee shop, we can be there in ten minutes.”

“Then let’s go,” Lestrade replies quickly, already walking to the door.

Sherlock doesn’t protest as they climb into Lestrade’s police car, and John sits next to him with a smile. Sherlock pulls out his phone immediately, and John waits for a second in case he's sending him a text, but it's soon obvious Sherlock is only browsing the web. John allows himself to stare, just for a moment, just because he can. _God_ , _he's_ _beautiful_ , he can't help but think, already unable to detach his eyes from Sherlock's profile. He can still remember the feeling of those curls against his face, and he has to close his eyes not to reach out and thread his fingers back into Sherlock's hair. He wonders if they're going to sleep in the same bed tonight again, if Sherlock is going to ask, if he himself can suggest it. Sherlock has been sleeping quite a lot lately, ever since he got punched actually, and it would be logical that he refused any more sleep for at least the next three days. John could already hear all of his arguments, each one carefully researched so that even his medical opinion could not object.

He forces himself to open his eyes, pulling out his own phone and checking with Mrs Hudson that everything's fine with Rosie. She replies immediately, telling him that Rosie woke up a few minutes after they left but that she's perfectly alright. John replies, and he catches Sherlock's questioning eyes on him. John smiles at him, nodding slightly, and Sherlock nods back with a small curve of his lips. _So_ _beautiful_ , John finds himself thinking again and decides not to hide it this time. He lets his entire face show Sherlock just how he feels in this very moment, in the back of cab with one magnificent man by his side. Sherlock stares and stares, a faint blush blooming on his cheeks, and John resists the urge to touch. He licks his lips, wanting to say something, to put into words the warmth taking over his body, but Sherlock is looking down somewhere over his chest, the hand not holding his phone sliding on the seat to rest between them.

John breathes out slowly, glancing up to Lestrade in the front seat but the DI seems well preoccupied with the traffic, and even then, what should he care? Unable to repress an ever widening smile, John lets his own hand slide closer before taking Sherlock's, lacing their fingers slowly and hearing Sherlock let out a loud sigh. They say nothing, not a single word, not even a moan, and for a long moment, they simply stare down at their joined hands. Sherlock is the first to start brushing John's palm with his thumb, and John has to stop himself from shivering. He glances back up, wishing he could make Sherlock understand just how many times he’s thought about taking his hand after a long case, the adrenaline mixed with heavy sleepiness, but never dared to.

It's only when Lestrade clears his throat that John realises they've stopped. Sherlock's eyes are back on him, full of questions again, and John squeezes his hand before letting go and opening the door. Sherlock is already back on his phone, texting Lestrade this time, and John can't help but laugh as the DI sighs loudly.

"You can't just run off on your own, Sherlock," Lestrade says, looking up from his phone.

"Of course he can't," John supplies, frowning.

Lestrade's phone chimes again. "Even if it's the quicker way to catch him."

John takes a step towards Sherlock, "You're not chasing after him alone, Sherlock."

Sherlock rolls his eyes, putting his phone back in his coat and nodding toward the building where their suspect is supposed to be. They move quickly, eyes searching the place efficiently, and when Sherlock runs off down a hallway, John is fast to follow. He takes out his gun, seeing Lestrade do the same, and they both stay behind Sherlock with their eyes wide open. Sherlock stops suddenly, watching as the hallway separates in two, and turns towards them, an insistent look on his face.

"No," John says immediately.

Sherlock rolls his eyes again, gesturing towards the two options offered to them, and then tapping his wrist. Quick.

"I go with him," Lestrade says. He looks at Sherlock, "Which one are you most certain about?” Sherlock points to the right hallway. Lestrade glances back at him, and John shakes his head, ready to object. "No, I need to be with you. If you shoot the suspect, we're screwed."

John sighs, hating the logic in Lestrade's words. "Fine," he sighs before stepping closer to Sherlock. "You don't do anything stupid, understand?"

Sherlock nods, his hands clenching in John's coat and tugging once. John gets the message, reads the same worry in Sherlock's eyes, and nods. "Yes. Be careful."

Lestrade is looking down at his own shoes when he clears his throat again, and John doesn't miss the quick glance at him when they finally part. Sherlock races down the right hallway, and John watches them go with a knot in his chest before going his own way. He's probably not going to end up finding their suspect, but he still keeps his gun in hand just in case. He checks every door, every corner and window, but when he reaches the end of the building, he can't help but feel just the tiniest bit disappointed. He would have liked it better to have found him, making sure at the same time that Sherlock is safe. He sighs, turning around and hurrying to rejoin Sherlock and Lestrade.

The gunshot echoes in the hallway for a long second, the bullet grazing John's left ear and the shock making him fall backward. He's not sure how he manages to keep in gun in his hand, or how he can still think clearly with his head spinning, but the moment the man steps forward to finish the job, John holds up his arm and aims for the shoulder. The second gun shot makes his heart miss a beat, and for the briefest of seconds, he wonders who shot first. The suspect cries out in pain, his gun falling on the floor and John pushes it away, forcing himself to stand back up and back the man against the nearest wall. He's panting, the adrenaline pumping through his veins and when footsteps get closer, he allows himself to breathe out slowly.

He's alright.   
Sherlock's alright.  
Everything's alright.

"John!"

John's head spins towards the voice, heart beating just a little faster as he recognizes Sherlock's and he finds himself giggling like an idiot. The moment Sherlock is close enough he all but collapses into John, their entire bodies pressed together, and John lets go of the other man. Lestrade is quick to replace him, but John isn't paying any attention to either of them anymore. He slides both arms around Sherlock's waist and holds him close and lets him tuck his face against his neck. He can feel Sherlock's hands clenched in his coat, his breath hot and fast against his skin, and John slowly slides his hands up and down his back, "I'm fine," he whispers. "I'm fine." Sherlock lets out a desperate sound, low in his throat, and John holds him tighter. "He missed, I'm fine."

Sherlock breathes out loudly, not moving, and John is not sure he'll be able to let go either. He smiles, brushing his nose against his curls, "You spoke," he says, amused, and he feels Sherlock shrug. "You know you shouldn't, right?"

Sherlock shrugs again, humming and slightly shaking now too.

"Are you alright?" Lestrade asks, and John remembers they're not alone.

"Yes," he replies, not letting go of Sherlock. "The bullet just grazed my ear."

Sherlock suddenly pulls away, grasping John's hand and leading him away. "Sherlock, what are -"

"It's okay, go," Lestrade cuts in. "Looks like he's going anyway, so... Just come to the Yard for your deposition later."

John nods, "I will," he manages to say before Sherlock pulls harder on his hand. John lets him guide them out and flag a cab. Sherlock doesn't let go of him all the way home, sitting much closer than usual and holding his hand tightly. John doesn't think once about complaining. he understands, more than understands actually, and if Sherlock needs reassurance, then he's not going to deny him. He brushes Sherlock's wrist slowly, hoping to calm him down, and when they stop in front of 221B, Sherlock doesn't look as desperate as he had just a moment before. He looks up at him as John pays the driver, and he's about to let go of his hand to get out when John squeezes it, "This way," he says, nodding toward his door and they both exit the cab without letting go.

Mrs Hudson pops her head out as they close the front door behind them, but Sherlock is still pulling on John's hand all the way up. "Can you keep an eye on Rosie for a little longer?" John asks quickly, and he sees her nod before they're disappearing up the stairs. Sherlock all but busts the door open, heading towards the sofa and pushing John down until he's lying on his back. "What are you doing?" John asks softly, smiling up at him.

Sherlock groans, removing his coat and gesturing for John to do the same. As soon as both hit the floor, Sherlock settles on top of him. John laughs, forcing himself not to move until Sherlock finishes manoeuvring them both around, and soon they're pressed chest to chest, Sherlock's head nuzzled against John's neck and their hands finding each other again. John remains silent for a long moment, letting Sherlock's fingers brush over and over his pulse point.

"I'm fine," he breathes out again, softly.

Sherlock hums, the sound almost too quiet.

"You know," John smiles, "You've been sleeping quite a lot lately."

Sherlock groans, but John can feel him smile against his neck. "I like a sleeping Sherlock," John continues, sliding his free hand down his back. Sherlock shifts against him, his lips brushing his skin. "I like being close to you, just like this," he continues, whispering words he had no idea he would ever be able to say. "It's as if our bodies are slowly melting into one, every part of you anchored into every part of me."

Sherlock hums, a little weaker this time, and John turns his head just enough to kiss his temple, "I'm mumbling nonsense, sorry."

Sherlock shakes his head slowly, making a protesting noise as he snuggles even closer, if possible. John smiles, wanting to say so much more but knowing not to, not yet. He wants, needs Sherlock to be fully awake so that each and every word he says will be understood and discussed. _There_ _is still so much we need to share_ , John thinks as Sherlock slowly falls asleep against him, _and I want to tell you everything, Sherlock._

He's not sure how long he remains like that, feeling Sherlock's chest rise against his regularly. When Mrs Hudson knocks softly on the door, John makes sure to remain still as she steps in, "How's Rosie?" he asks in a whisper.

"Fine, don't worry dear," she smiles, looking down at Sherlock. "Is he alright?"

"Yes," John replies, "Just tired I guess."

She nods, "That's good, he doesn't sleep enough if you ask me."

John doesn't tell her he's been sleeping quite a lot lately, and waits as he reads the silent question dancing in her eyes. It doesn't take long until she finally asks, pointing at them both, "John, is this what I think it is?"

John's smile grows wider, "It might just be, yes


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock wakes up with a startle, his hand tightening in John's shirt and his breathing ragged. John immediately places one hand on his nape, tilting his head up until he can look down at him, smiling. "Hey," he whispers softly, letting his free hand cup Sherlock's face, his thumb stroking his cheek slowly. 

Sherlock's eyes are wide open, roaming all over his face, and before John can react, he's nuzzling his face back against his neck, lips pressed against his pulse point. John's breath catches, his entire body shivering as Sherlock's mouth remains there, unmoving and yet, this feels as if a thunderstorm is running through John's veins. He licks his lips, remembering to breathe and applies just a bit more pressure on the hand still on Sherlock's nape. "I'm alright," he murmurs, knowing exactly what Sherlock must have been dreaming about. "I'm alright."

Sherlock moans softly, lips still against John's skin.

"We're alright," John finds himself saying. "We're home, right where we belong, together." He closes his eyes, realising just how stupid he sounds but finding he doesn't care. He wants to tell Sherlock all this, god, he wants to write him poetry, no matter what Sherlock thinks of it. He wants to tell him just how lucky he feels right now, the two of them pressed together. "I'm right here," he continues, trying to reassure Sherlock the best he can.

Sherlock exhales loudly, his breath warm against John's neck, before pulling away just enough to look back up him. John doesn't say anything, smiling and watching as Sherlock's lips curl into a matching smile. His bandage still makes him look so vulnerable, and John forces himself not to kiss him right here, right now.

"Better?" he asks in a whisper, and Sherlock nods slowly, eyes still roaming all over his face but less frantically now. "Slept enough?" John asks with an amused smile, and Sherlock rolls his eyes, resting his head back against his chest.

They don't move for several minutes, simply existing together in the quiet and soft moment, accepting the simple and yet breathtaking fact that they're allowed to do just that. John holds Sherlock tighter, pressing his head against his curls and inhaling deeply, "I have to go get Rosie," he says with a sigh. "Mrs Hudson took care of her all day, she must be exhausted by now."

Sherlock hums, sighing as well,, but already letting go. He rolls over, his back against the sofa and John allows himself just another second before getting to his feet. "Are you eating this evening?" He asks, smiling, and Sherlock hums in agreement. "I'll make that soup you like so much."

Sherlock hums lazily, eyes fluttering closed again and his entire body relaxing. John watches for a minute more, resisting the urge to lie back down and kiss every inch of Sherlock's skin, and finally heads to the door with a never-ending smile on his lips.

Rosie greets him with open arms and loud mumbling, and he picks her up quickly, "Hello sweetheart, how was your day?" Rosie stares at him for a long second before smashing her toy on his chest, her usual way of expressing herself lately. "Glad to hear you had a good time!"

"Oh, John," Mrs Hudson sighs with a smile, "I couldn't say anything earlier, but I'm so very happy for the two of you."

John hides his smile his Rosie's hair, "Thank you, Mrs Hudson."

She shakes her head, raising both hands in the air, "I swear, I was certain I would leave this earth before you two figured it all out."

"Don't say that," John replies.

She smiles at him, patting his shoulder, "I really am happy, dear."

John allows himself to feel entirely smug at the prospect of finally,  _ finally, _ being on the verge of more. He knows he's probably smiling like a bloody idiot but who cares. Sherlock Holmes, the brilliant, breathtakingly beautiful, completely mad Sherlock Holmes is waiting for him upstairs, cheeks still flushed and his body still warm from the the hours they’d spent snuggled together, and John could just has to climb back up the stairs and get that warmth back.

"Just look at yourself," Mrs Hudson laughs, her entire face lighting with joy. "Get back to him, now."

"I..." John begins, but can find no excuse to stay just a little longer with their landlady. "I should do that, yes. Thank you again for taking care of Rosie today."

"No worries, dear," she smiles, "and don't ever hesitate, alright?"

John nods, already on his way to the door, and Rosie mumbles cheerfully as they head back upstairs. Sherlock is no longer on the sofa, and John hears the water ruining in the bathroom, probably washing his hands. John glances at the clock, "Already time for your dinner it seems."

Rosie smashes her toy against his shoulder, pointing to the kitchen, "Da!"

"Yes, yes," John smiles, "Dinner time."

A tap on his shoulder makes John jump, and he turns around to find Sherlock standing behind him. Okay? he asks without a word, and Sherlock nods quickly. He looks at Rosie, then the table and gestures to her sitting chair. "Want to do it?" Sherlock nods again, and Rosie reaches for him as soon as John hands her to him. "Let me just warm up her bottle."

They settle into something so familiar that for a moment, John wonders what he ever did to deserve this instant, right there. Rosie in Sherlock's arms, looking up at him as she drinks slowly, one of her hands closed around Sherlock's suit lapel. Sherlock, eyes roaming all over Rosie's face, a small, private smile on his lips and the occasional glances at him.

_ This is my family. _

He forces himself to focus on the soup he's making, turning his back to them again but listening to each and every low sound coming from either Rosie or Sherlock.. Smiling to himself, John tries to imagine what it will be like once Rosie starts to talk, what she will say to them, what her interests will be. Surely Sherlock is going to teach her all the proper, usual words a toddler should learn, and there is a good chance Rosie is going to love that. Just like John will without a single doubt.

A loud humming brings him back to reality, and John turns back around, "Finished?" Sherlock nods, setting the bottle on the table and snuggling Rosie against his chest. "Do you want to bathe her?" John asks, and Sherlock is already standing up, humming in agreement. "Hurry up, dinner will be ready in ten." John watches them go, leaning against the counter, thoughtful. He can hear them both in the next room, and after a second, he wonders what he's still doing standing there. He turns off the burner under the soup before going to the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

He's not sure how long they stay there, trapped in the warm and cosy room, but John couldn't care less about time. He's kneeling next to Sherlock, both of them playing with Rosie in the bath, and she keeps splashing her hands into the water. John can feel Sherlock's thigh pressed against his, and with every moment, they snuggle closer and closer until it's impossible to distinguish where one body begins and the other ends.

By the time Rosie is changed into her pajamas, it’s practically impossible for John to make a step without feeling Sherlock's presence right next to him. He doesn't say a thing, simply moving around the kitchen as they get ready to eat and enjoying the gentle brush of their hands, chests, hips. It almost feels natural to find Sherlock's feet tangled with his under the table as they eat, exchanging knowing looks and quiet laughs when staring at each other becomes just a bit too obvious. In every fantasy, John has never imagined this, right here. Yes, he's aware of all of the facets Sherlock never shows to the world, but this soft, flushed, so very open Sherlock is a complete surprise.

And John finds himself falling in love just a bit more.

Only Rosie's mumblings are breaking the silence settling around them, and John watches as Sherlock nods as she probably explains something very important, and picks up her toy each time she lets it fall. He's humming along from time to time, the sound louder than what it was a few days before, and John suddenly remembers that he'll be able to talk in just two days time. Sherlock is going to be able to speak again. God, he’s missed Sherlock's voice, but  something tightens in his chest at the thought. Once he's able to talk again, Sherlock isn't going to stop, most likely talking over everything that happened during the week, coming back to each detail and finding a explanation for all of them.

_ I have to tell you first. _

John forces himself to look back down at his empty plate, breathing out quietly and closing his eyes for the briefest of seconds. Tonight. He'll tell him tonight, and in two days, Sherlock can decide what to do with their future.

A brush against his foot makes John look up again, finding Sherlock's concerned eyes fixed on him. He smiles, shaking his head and glancing at Rosie, "Do you want to take care of her tonight?"

Sherlock stares at him for a second more, and nods.

"I'll take care of all this," John replies, gesturing to their dishes.

Sherlock still isn't moving and with another glance at him, John reads the silent question in his eyes. He lets out a long breath, the knot in his chest turning into something much warmer, "Yes, I'll change and wait for you in bed."

Sherlock smiles at him, a tentative, hopeful smile that makes John's heart ache for more. He kisses Rosie goodbye and allows Sherlock to pick her up, heading upstairs with one last smile. He contemplates the dishes in the sink for a long moment before sighing. He'll deal with it tomorrow. For now he wants to curl up in bed around Sherlock and whisper all the things he’s kept to himself for so long. He wants to capture Sherlock’s breath, to let the scent of his skin fill all of him. He wants to kiss him, god, he wants to kiss all of him. He needs to kiss him, to make Sherlock understand just how long he’s waited for this very moment, just how much he craves him day after day, night after night.

He forces himself to take his time in the bathroom, enjoying the hot water in the shower and checking himself in the mirror for several seconds. He's not what he used to be, that much is certain. Softer in the middle, just a bit more hair on his chest, and the lines under his eyes that mean he needs to sleep more. Not what I'm wishing for right now, he thinks with a grin, images of endless nights spent discovering Sherlock's body filling his head. He contemplates going to bed in just his pants, but puts on a vest at the last moment. Overwhelming Sherlock is not part of the plan, and to be entirely honest, he doesn't want anything to happen tonight. Sherlock needs time. Time to think about them, about all they are and all they could be, and John wants nothing more but to give him this time.

Three knocks on the door make him jump, and he clears his throat, "Come in."

Sherlock opens the door slowly, stepping in, his eyes finding John's bare legs immediately. John tries not to squirm in place, breathing in deeply and waiting for Sherlock to finish his intense inspection. With a flushed neck and cheeks, Sherlock finally looks back up at him, and quickly turns around to the bathtub.

"I'll wait in bed," John says softly, opening the adjoining door and meeting Sherlock's gaze one last time before letting him shower.

He listens to the water running, then Sherlock walking around and finally the door opening again. He closes his eyes, giving Sherlock the privacy he needs to come slip under the covers, and without a hint of hesitation, he reaches for his hand. That's all it takes for Sherlock to wrap himself around him, his head finding its rightful place against John's neck, and their legs tangling under the covers. The bandage is rough against John's skin, and he can't help but think there soon won't be one. They remain silent for a long moment, simply breathing each other in, and when John finds the courage to speak, it's to a entirely relaxed Sherlock.

"Sherlock," he begins, his voice barely a whisper. Sherlock hums lazily, nose brushing John's skin. "I haven't replied to your last text." Sherlock does tense at that, but John slowly rubs a hand over his back. "I want to tell you now, is that alright?" It takes a long second before Sherlock nods slowly, not moving away. John closes his eyes,  _ here we go _ . "That first night, when you were deducing me in that cab, digging up the deepest family secrets, God Sherlock, I was already falling for you right there. You were so beautiful, so brilliant, so very alive and I was just the opposite. I had absolutely no purpose back then, and you saw it instantly. You took all up the space with just one look, just one word, and I had no idea how to look away from you anymore."

John releases a loud breath, the hand on Sherlock's back stopping. "I must have been so obvious, I mean, you saw it clear at Angelo’s and then I was so scared. because of course you wouldn't be interested, how could you be? I was half a man, barely breathing, and you were bloody amazing."

Sherlock pulls away, reaching for his phone on the bedside table, but John stops him, "No, please, tonight I want to tell you all this. I want to give you time to think about it, and in two days... In two days, you can decide what happens to us." Sherlock stares at him intensely. "Is that... Is that alright?"

Sherlock slides one hand up his arm to his neck, thumbs brushing his jaw as he nods, and John lets out a relieved sigh. They remain like this for a long moment, and when John manages to speak again, Sherlock's eyes are fixed on him.

"I wanted to kiss you," John murmurs. "After we ran all over London, when you were catching your breath against that wall, looking all the more beautiful. I wanted to kiss you right there, Sherlock. That was all I could think about, pressing myself against you, tilting your head down and sealing our lips together."

Sherlock's eyes drop to his lips, and John licks them unconsciously. "You said it would have changed things, in a good way, and there isn't a second when I don't regret not doing so. Because it would have been different, right? We would have avoided so much pain, so much anger and regret."

Sherlock takes his hand, holding tightly, and John breathes out slowly.

"But I didn't kiss you, Sherlock, and during the five years that followed, I found myself thinking about kissing you again and again. All the bloody time. I just looked at you and thought, now, I should kiss him now, and I never did. And then... and then..." He lets out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed. "Then you were gone and all I could think about was how one kiss could have changed everything. Made you stay. Made you think twice about taking that jump. Made you trust me."

A squeeze of his hand forces John to look back up at Sherlock, and the silent tear rolling down his cheeks makes all of John's cells scream. He leans in before he can think twice about it, lips capturing the tear and his mouth lingering against Sherlock's cheek for several seconds. He can feel Sherlock's breath against his face, just a bit ragged and the feeling is already intoxicating. John pulls away slowly, remaining close as he whispers, "You came back." He smiles. "You came back, Sherlock, and everything was both incredible and bright and so very painful. Because you were still so beautiful, so alive, and right  _ there _ . I could imagine kissing you again, it was an option once more, and the thought was making every inch of my body ache."

A broken sound escapes Sherlock's throat, and John's lips find his cheek again, kissing softly. "I'm so sorry." Lips against one eyebrow now. "You came back and I didn’t wait for you. I was away, I had tried to move on. I was ruining everything over and over again." He brushes their noses together, their breath meeting in the space between their lips. "I was a mess again and hurt you in all the ways possible, all of it while thinking about our lips pressed together."

He pulls away with one last kiss over Sherlock's cheek.

"I love you, Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyes snap back open, roaming all over John's face and his breathing echoing loud inside the quiet room.

"I love you," John says again, quiet laughter escaping him. "I wish I could make you understand just how much. I wish I had the words to explain how all of me wants nothing more but all of you. That's all I picture, Sherlock, the two of us in this bed for the rest of our life. Every night, falling asleep in your arms with the certainty of finding you there when I wake up. I want to watch you play with Rosie until she's old enough to tell us to leave her alone for just one second. I want to be able to kiss you whenever I want, without even thinking twice about it."

Sherlock's entire body is shaking now, his hand still in holding tightly to John’s, and John leans back in for another brush of his lips against Sherlock's cheekbones. "Us. That's all I want. So if you'll have me, I'd like to kiss you the moment this bandage is gone and never stop."

With a sudden movement, Sherlock places their joined hands over his pounding heart, and John stares them at them, barely breathing.

"Sherlock," he murmurs, not sure what he more he could say right now without making a fool of himself. Keeping their hands pressed against his chest, Sherlock snuggles back close again, breathing heavily against John’s neck. “I love you,” John whispers into the dark room, and with a promise for more pressed against him, he lets sleep overtake him. 


	6. Chapter 6

John wakes up alone.

He doesn't open his eyes, not just yet, and rolls over to Sherlock's side of the bed. His nose finds his pillow immediately, breathing the remnants of Sherlock's scent in, and he hides his smile against the soft fabric. Giddy. That's exactly how he feels in this very moment, and he finds that he doesn't mind. He's allowed to feel breathtakingly happy. He told Sherlock, he let the words breach his lips and find Sherlock's ears, and Sherlock listened. He didn't run off, didn't push him away, didn't back up. He stayed, listened and held him. So yes, John's entire body is radiating with warmth and bright happiness, and it has only just started.

It takes another minute before he realises just how quiet the flat is, and then less than a second for a pang of panic to settle inside his chest. He glances at the clock, barely 7:30 a.m. Rosie should be awake, or about to, but more importantly, Sherlock should be moving around the flat like he usually does in the early hours of the day (most of the time complaining about the lack of clever criminals). Panic gives way to worry, and John gets up quickly. He puts on one of Sherlock's dressing gown and checks his phone before exiting the room. No new messages and an apparently empty flat. He listens for just a second, making sure Rosie isn't awake upstairs but hears nothing. It's only when he goes to make himself a cup of coffee that he notices the note on the table.

 

_I went to Barts. Molly is with me._

_I'll be back home this afternoon._

_Sherlock._

 

John licks his lips, still worrying but for another reason entirely. Maybe he went too fast and Sherlock now needs time to think. Maybe he went too far, said too much, overwhelmed him? Teeth graze at his lower lip now, and John fidgets with his phone for a long moment. A simple text could clear up everything, but could also make it worse. What if Sherlock doesn't reply? Should he give him some more time alone? But what if he's thinking about a way to tell him that this isn’t what he wants?

_Get it together, Watson._

He can't do this anymore, can't think like this any longer. He opened his heart to Sherlock yesterday, and it felt right. He can't be backing up now, can't be scared again. Letting out a deep sigh, John unlocks his phone and starts typing quickly, hitting send before he can second think it.

**sent / 07:36**

Just woke up and found your note.

Not coming back for lunch?

 

He stares at his screen as the message remains unanswered for long - long - seconds, and almost drops it as he jumps when Sherlock's reply arrives.

 

**received / 7:37**

Molly has some new body parts, I can only work on them today. SH

John smiles, picturing a mute Sherlock trying to explain his experiment to Molly.

 

**sent / 7:37**

Alright, I'll probably go give my deposition this morning.

 

His fingers hover over the screen for a second before sending one more text.

**sent / 7:38**

Sherlock, are we alright?

 

The reply arrives almost immediately.

 

**received / 7:38**

Yes, John. More than alright. SH

 

John's smile widens, and he quickly types back,

 

**sent / 7:39**

Ok. Good.

 

See you soon.

He doesn't wait for a reply, knowing Sherlock all too well by now, and sets his phone back on the table. He sips his coffee, the hot liquid working to warm him up, and decides to wake Rosie so that they can take a walk in the park before going to the Yard. Still sleepy, she lets John move her around without a single protest, hanging on tightly to him while he feeds her and leans in to kiss her. By the time they're ready to head out, Sherlock has sent him three more texts, all of them complaining about the idiocy of Molly's new apprentice, and John replies to them with the certainty that he's never going be able to stop smiling.

Rosie fully wakes up once they get to the park, and she points to every dog she sees, mumbling to herself and sometimes looking up at John as if to ask him something very important. John shakes his head, "You'll have to ask your..." he trails off, not sure on how to finish this sentence. Papa, that was the word he was going for, without a hint of hesitation, and yet he had never really thought about it. Of course Sherlock is going to play a huge role in Rosie's life, he already is, but they've never talked about it. John has already called Lestrade Uncle Greg a dozen times, and yet, never gave Sherlock the title. It felt... off. Too far from what he really is to her.

John looks back down at his daughter, picturing her a few years older, calling for them as she comes back from school. Her dads.

"What do you think sweetheart," he asks with a smile, "Daddy and Papa?"

Rosie doesn't even glance at him, too busy staring at two birds on a bench, and John shakes his head fondly. Another conversation he needs to have with Sherlock it seems, one he finds himself looking forward to. _It's time I give you a proper family,_ he thinks with a fond smile, and Rosie bursts out laughing when the birds fly off, passing right next to her.

Lestrade is waiting for them when they arrive, and he picks up Rosie from her stroller, "Hello miss Rosie!" Rosie grabs his tie, tugging on it firmly and making the DI laugh. "How are you on this fine morning?"

"Pretty good," John replies for the both of them, sitting down on one of the chairs.

Lestrade apparently isn't letting go of Rosie, and he sits behind his desk, settling her on his lap. "Came for your deposition, then?"

"Yes," John nods, "Sherlock is out for most of the day, so I thought I’d drop by."

"You're lucky, it's been quiet lately," Lestrade sighs. "Finally some peace." John smiles, watching as Rosie takes great interest on the various things on Lestrade's desk. "Surely Sherlock must be bored by now."

John looks down at his hands, finding himself blushing like a bloody teenager, "Not really."

Lestrade laughs and John glances up at him, "Oh, really?"

John sighs, rubbing a hand over his face and accepting his fate, "We talked, well, I've talked."

Lestrade stares at him, "And?"

"And," John smiles, allowing himself to be stupidly happy again, "I can't wait for that bloody bandage to come off."

Lestrade laughs again, throwing his head back, "God, that's already too much information, mate."

John rolls his eyes, "You asked."

Lestrade looks back at him, "I did, yes." They stare at each other for a long moment. "I'm happy for you, really."

John nods, licking his lips, "I am too."

They don't say much for another minute, only Rosie making herself heard inside the small room, and John finds himself wishing he could go to Barts afterward and surprise Sherlock. Probably not. He'll be busy anyway, and John doesn't see himself revealing more of his feelings outside the reassuring walls of their own home.

"Come on," Lestrade finally says, "Let's get this over with!"

They make a quick work of John's deposition, the events still clear in both of their heads, and by the time they've finished, Rosie is dozing off on Lestrade's chest. John places her in her stroller softly, kissing her forehead before shaking Lestrade's hand.

"I wanted to thank you," he says before leaving, and Lestrade frowns.

"Thank me?"

"Yes," John smiles. "The other day, you found the right words to encourage me, and I don't think I would have dared say all the things I’ve said since without that little push forward."

Lestrade's entire face lights up as he says, "You both deserve this, you know."

John nods, breathing out a quiet, "Yeah."

"Now go find him," Lestrade laughs, practically throwing him out of his office, and John leaves with one last nod and smile.

He receives a new text just as he pushing the door to 221B open, and John waits until they're both upstairs before looking at his phone. It's a picture, from Sherlock, and it takes him a moment before he realises what it is exactly. Heart beating just a bit too fast, he replies quickly,

 

**sent / 10:27**

Sherlock, why are you sending me lab results?

 

He sits on his chair as he waits for Sherlock's reply, his eyes finding the picture and the results written there.

 

**received / 10:29**

I thought you'd like to know I'm clean. SH

 

John's breath catches.

 

**sent / 10:30**

I can see that, yes.

But why now?

 

**received / 10:30**

Don't be an idiot, John. SH

 

John lets out a deep sigh. Test results. Sherlock is clean, not a sign of sexual transmissible diseases.

 

**sent / 10:32**

Shouldn't we be talking about that in person?

 

He taps his finger against his phone as he waits for a reply, his mind already assaulting him with his wildest (and softest) fantasies.

 

**received / 10:33**

It's just sex, John. SH

 

John breathes out deeply, thinking about his answer for a few seconds.

 

**sent / 10:34**

It's not just sex.

 

**received / 10:34**

I fail to see why not. SH

 

John licks his lower lip, typing his reply carefully.

**sent / 10:35**

You chose to text me these test results instead of simply giving them to me later today.

What can we deduce about that?

 

Sherlock's next reply takes a full three minutes to arrive, and John manages to work himself into a state in the meantime.

 

**received / 10:38**

I never thought I'd say this, but you're being too observant, John. SH

 

**sent / 10:38**

I have a good teacher.

 

He types his next message immediately after.

 

**sent / 10:39**

You do know I'm not expecting anything, right?

We can go as slow as you want. We don't have to do anything at all.

 

**received / 10:40**

No. I want to. SH

 

John lets out a deep breath.

 

**sent / 10:41**

Alright. But you're allowed to be nervous.

I am.

 

**received / 10:42**

Are you really? SH

 

John smiles, leaning back against his chair.

 

**sent / 10:43**

Yes. I've thought about this a lot.

It's normal to be nervous after all this time, all this waiting.

 

He forces himself to get up and busy himself, pouring another mug of coffee as the phone chimes twice in the sitting room. With Rosie playing on the floor, John sits back down and prepares to have one of the most important conversations of his life, over texts.

 

**received / 10:44**

I've thought about it too. For a long time.  SH

 

**received / 10:44**

But especially this week. SH

 

John hides his smile in his mug.

 

**sent / 10:46**

I have too. Can't really help myself when it comes to you.

 

**received / 10:47**

I really do want this, John. Don't doubt it. SH

 

John smiles, wondering how Sherlock can manage to deduce his worry all the way from Barts.

 

**sent / 10:48**

I trust you, but this will need more discussion.

Out loud, face to face.

 

**received / 10:49**

I know. SH

 

**received / 10:49**

Soon. SH

 

John smiles.

 

**sent/ 10:50**

Tomorrow.

 

The reply is almost instant.

 

**received / 10:50**

Tomorrow. SH

 

John resists the urge to send him an I love you, realising Sherlock is most likely waiting to be able to speak again to tell him. Just the thought makes his chest tighten.

 

**received / 10:51**

Molly is here again. I'll be back later than first expected. SH

 

**sent / 10:52**

Ok, be careful.

 

**sent / 10:53**

Oh, and I should say, I'm clean too.

 

John barely represses a shiver as he reads Sherlock's reply, and the promise it holds.

 

**received / 10:54**

Good. That's good. SH

 

John sets his phone on the table next to him, staring into the void in front of him and trying really hard not to think about Sherlock's naked body under his. He can't lose himself in these thoughts, not when they still have so much to say first, but he finds that part of him only wants to take Sherlock apart, piece by piece, just so he can pull him back together with his lips and hands. He's been craving Sherlock for so long, it almost feels unreal to realise it's all within his reach now. He's going to know what Sherlock's skin tastes like, he's going to make him moan and gasp for more, going to feel his body shudder under his touch. Everything, all he's been dreaming of for years and years.

"Christ," he sighs to the quiet room.

Shaking his head, John gets to his feet and proceeds to prepare lunch for Rosie and himself. Rosie plays happily with her favorite toy, a bee Sherlock had given her, while John warms up her meal. He can still remember the first weeks after he moved back in. Sherlock had been so careful around them both, but especially with Rosie, as if he wasn't sure how to act around her. John had caught him more than once leaning over her crib, staring at her while she slept, probably studying her breathing without a single word, a single movement, sometimes even for hours. Then there had been the countless times he tried to hold her, testing every position and rating them, putting her down as soon as Rosie started crying. It had taken a rather long time for him to realise he only needed to snuggle her close to his chest for Rosie to calm down and fall asleep. Then, John had stopped counting the number of times he had found them both on the sofa or even on the floor, fast asleep. Rosie, of course, had loved him instantly. Whenever Sherlock had to go out, she would cry and refuse to sleep until he was back. Sherlock had been delighted, obviously, and started some more experiments on emotional attachment and sleep patterns.

"You love him too, don't you?" John asks his daughter with a smile, beginning to feed her. Rosie smashes her toy against the table in agreement. "That's a good thing, because he's mad about you."

By the time he finishes his own lunch, Rosie is already dozing off, and John hurries to get her ready for her nap before she falls asleep. He comes back downstairs after watching her for long minutes, and makes quick work of the dishes. He then sits back in his chair, taking his laptop with him and sorting his emails quickly. Ever since he closed the blog, clients have been using his email for cases more frequently, and finding a good and interesting one could take hours. He knows Sherlock is going to ask for a new case soon, and he better find one now before they're busy with something else entirely.

He's not sure how long he remains sitting there, but just as he hears Rosie crying, the front door opens and closes downstairs. Sherlock climbs the stairs two by two judging by the sounds of it, and goes directly upstairs to Rosie. John puts the computer away, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He waits until he hears Sherlock come back down before standing up, and then only to stand in the middle of their sitting room, having no idea what he should do.

Sherlock opens the door almost too slowly, and closes it behind him even slower. They stare at each other, not speaking, barely breathing, and when Sherlock takes the first step toward him, John's entire body shivers. He watches, heart pounding as Sherlock moves closer and closer, Rosie in his arms, and without thinking twice about it, opens his arms to gather them both against him. Sherlock's face finds his neck immediately, the bandage rough against John's skin, but Sherlock's lips so very soft in contrast. They don't move, simply standing there, close and warm and home.

"Alright?" John asks in a whisper after a long moment, and Sherlock nods, not moving.

Rosie appears to be falling back asleep, probably warm between their pressed bodies, and John rubs her back slowly. He kisses Sherlock's temple softly, letting his lips linger there.

"I've missed you," he confesses, not caring about how silly it might sounds.

Sherlock moans, a quiet, intimate sound that can only mean one thing, and John holds him tighter. He's not sure how long they remain like that, but when they part, Sherlock's cheeks are red and his smile wide, and John could kiss him right here and now.

"I've found you a case," he says, brushing a hand across his cheek.

Sherlock raises a interested eyebrow, and John nods towards the sofa. They both settle down, Rosie fast asleep again, but John knows it won't last long. He grabs his computer and explains in detail to Sherlock the missing jewelry this client wants them to investigate. They fall back into their routine, Sherlock completely absorbed in the case already, and John takes Rosie from his arms as soon as she wakes up. He lets Sherlock bounce ideas off him, writing them down on paper much too quickly for John to properly understand, and when he announces that dinner is ready, Sherlock is close to solving it already.

He continues to text John as they eat, going on and on about the woman's numerous lovers, and how it can only be one of them. John points out details and nods enthusiastically as Sherlock finally seems to get it. He watches with a smile as Sherlock stands up and goes back to his notes, pacing around the living room before grabbing John's laptop and typing something quickly.

"Solved it, then?" John asks as he pushes the dishes away.

Sherlock nods, still too busy typing his email, and John turns back to Rosie. "Let's get you ready then."

Sherlock finds him just as he is about to turn off the light in Rosie's room, and he allows him to kiss her before closing the door. They head back downstairs without a word, both of them heading for the bathroom, and John wonders if it will always be like this from now on. The two of them getting ready for bed, their shoulders bumping into each other as they brush their teeth (or at least Sherlock tries to). He hopes it will, for years and years to come. Still, John makes sure to leave the room as he's about to change, noticing Sherlock doing the same behind him. He's about to remove his shirt when Sherlock joins him, just wearing pants for the night, and John can't help but stare.

He notices then the paper in Sherlock's hand.

"What is this?" He asks, nodding toward it.

Sherlock settles under the covers, glancing to the empty space next to him, and John slides under quickly. Sherlock hands him the paper immediately before lying on his back, "For me?"

Sherlock doesn't reply in any way, staring at the ceiling, and John settles more comfortably before starting to read it.

 

_I came home one day, about two months after you agreed to share this flat with me, and you were asleep on the sofa. You had come home from work, and were still wearing your shoes, but your arm was thrown over your head and therefore, your shirt stretched over your chest. Your hipbone was showing. I can remember it so clearly, John. I stood there, watching those few inches of skin and wondering what it would feel like to graze my fingertips against it, or my lips. I'm not sure how long I remained there, unable to move as the urge for more was making it hard to focus. I wanted to lie down next to you, to insert myself into every empty space on that sofa and let our bodies melt into one._

_That was the first time I realised just how much I wanted you, John._

 

John swallows, his mouth suddenly dry, and looks up from the few lines Sherlock had carefully written down. "Sherlock," he breathes out, unable to say anything else really.

Sherlock turns to face him, looking so very vulnerable, and John can't resist any longer. He shoves the paper under this pillow, knowing he'll be reading it over and over again, before pulling Sherlock against him. He doesn't say anything more, but lets his body speak for him, lips finding Sherlock's forehead and lingering there for long minutes.

Morning finds them snuggled together.

Neither of them say much as the minutes, hours tick by, but John is feeling the same apprehension he's sees in Sherlock's eyes. They both grow more and more agitated, Sherlock barely remaining in one place when they're finally waiting at the hospital. John forces himself to breathe in and out deeply despite his pounding heart. He's glad he decided to send Rosie with Mrs Hudson, not certain how they're both going to react once they're back home.

Sherlock's eyes are fixed on him as the doctor finally, finally, removes his bandage, congratulating them both on Sherlock's fast healing.

John isn't listening.

All the air is being sucked of the room as Sherlock's voice fills the empty space between them.

"John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, Sherlock is able to speak again, and as you can guess, he has a lot to say!  
> Honestly, I never thought I'll almost be writing 20k of mute Sherlock when I first started this fic, but here we are!  
> Thank you so much for reading, loving this story and telling me so in the comments.
> 
> See you soon for the next (very interesting) chapter,  
> Pauline.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here goes the chapter you've all been waiting for! I'm thinking there going to be maybe 3 or 4 more chapters to this story, I'm not sure yet. Thank you again for all the love, kudos and comments :)
> 
> Pauline.

John can't take his eyes off Sherlock.

The doctor is talking, gesturing between them, but John can't seem to be able to focus long enough to properly understand anything. He wants to close the distance still separating him from Sherlock, wants to brush his fingers all the way from his temple to his upper lip and feel skin and only skin.

"Doctor Watson?"

John's head snaps back to the doctor, looking at him with questioning eyes, "Sorry, what?"

"I was saying to Mr Holmes that he should take it easy," the man smiles. "He can speak as much as he wants, but make sure to check if there's anything unusual."

John nods quickly, "I'll keep an eye on him, yes."

"I'm not a child," Sherlock says, still sitting on the observation table.

John fights the temptation to close his eyes and let his voice fill every part of him,  _ God, I've missed this. _

"Of course you're not," the doctor assures him, "but you have a reputation around here Mr. Holmes, and I know Doctor Watson can take care of you."

John's eyes find Sherlock's again, unable to look away once more, and Sherlock's voice is almost too quiet as he replies, "Yes, he can."

Licking his lips, John stops himself from grabbing him by the hand and leaving this bloody office to find some dark corner to ravish him. Sherlock, of course, is probably reading all of it on his his face, and his cheeks turn just a bit more red as the muscles of his throat work slowly as he swallows. His neck, John thinks, I haven't kissed his neck yet.

"In that case," the doctor says, walking back to his desk and sitting down, "I'll write you a prescription just in case it starts to hurt again, and then you're free to go."

"Thank you," John replies absently, eyes still fixed on Sherlock.

Sherlock slowly gets to his feet, walking towards the desk to take his prescription while managing to hold John's stare the entire time. Fuck, John thinks. He can't just jump him. They still have so much to say, to clear out before they can embark on this together. That conversation over text was not enough, far from it, and John wants - no, needs to be certain Sherlock is perfectly aware of what it all means. John wants nothing more but to give himself entirely to him, and if it means waiting just a few more hours, then so be it.

"John?" Sherlock asks, probably realising he's getting lost inside his own head.

John smiles at him, "Ready?"

Sherlock nods, the tiniest movement of his head, and John breathes out slowly. He turns towards the doctor, thanking him one last time and promising to come back if there's anything wrong. Sherlock is already out of the office, and John hurries to follow him, forcing himself to walk just a step behind him.  _ Not in the hospital _ , he tells himself,  _ home _ .

Sherlock hails a cab as soon as they're outside, hands clenched into fists by his sides, and John stops next to him. He watches as the nearest cab slowly drives toward them. He only lets himself hesitate for a second before reaching for Sherlock's hand and breathing out slowly, lacing their fingers together as softly as he can. Sherlock relaxes into the touch instantly, turning to face him, lips parting as if to say something but deciding against it at the last moment. John smiles up at him, letting his thumb stroke Sherlock's palm slowly. They have time, all the time in the world really, and John wants nothing more than to be back home and listening to everything Sherlock had kept to himself.

"Home," he asks, the cab now waiting in front of them.

Sherlock stares some more, fingers tightening around John's, "Yes. Home."

Neither of them let go as they climb inside the cab, sitting close and John allows himself to let it sink in. All of it. Sherlock, right here and so close to finally being his. Their thighs, pressed together in the silent promise of more. Sherlock's eyes meeting his in the mirror, smiling and radiating with something close to bright happiness. They don't look away, John is not sure he'd be able to anyway, and by the time they finally stop in front of Baker Street, John is certain that everyone can hear his pounding heart.

"That's ￡20," the driver announces, bringing them both to reality, and John hurries to pay him.

Sherlock tightens his grip on John’s hand as he tries to let go, and John chuckles, using his right hand instead to reach into his left pocket, "Look what you're making me do," he sighs, not meaning any of it.

Sherlock shrugs, staring at him intensely and waits until John is leaning back against the seat before saying, "You love me."

John's breath catches, his entire body shivering and his hand squeezing Sherlock's as he replies, "I do."

The driver clears his throat, surely wondering what they're still doing inside his cab, and Sherlock leads them both out. They hurry to the front door, John's hand shaking as he opens it, and the second they're both inside, Sherlock is pushing him against the wall. Only then does he let go of John's hand, and then only to slide up his neck, thumbs stroking his jaw as he stares right into John's eyes.

For a moment, neither of them breathe.

"John," Sherlock says, his voice almost too quiet, and John finds himself shivering again. Sherlock licks his lips, triggering a soft sound erupting from low in John's throat. He pulls him closer, pressing them harder. "John," Sherlock starts again, "There are so many things I need to tell you." He rubs his nose along John's, breathing against his mouth. "So much I have yet to share with you."

John inhales sharply, "I want to hear all of it, Sherlock. Every single word."

Sherlock shudders in his arms, lips brushing his skin, and John breathes him in.

"I could have talked, you know," Sherlock says, sounding almost in pain. "I could have told you, could have replied to your every doubt and confession. I wanted to." John remains silent, letting Sherlock find the words he seems to be looking for, and lets one hand slide up and down his back. "My jaw, it stopped hurting days ago. I didn't feel any pain, couldn't understand why I had to wear that stupid bandage." John smiles, letting out a soft breath that caresses Sherlock's lips. "But I kept quiet. I listened to everything you said, all the thoughts you whispered and the regrets you shared."

Sherlock pulls away, just enough to look into his eyes, and John lets all the love he feels for him show on his face.

"I listened to everything, John," Sherlock murmurs.

John breathes out slowly, wondering how exactly he can still be falling just a little more in love with every second that passes. "I meant every word," he murmurs back.

Sherlock remains still for a long moment, eyes roaming all over John's face before leaning in again and nuzzling his face against his neck. John can't repress a moan as Sherlock's lips finally meet with his skin, fully this time, kissing again and again over his pulse point. "Sherlock," he sighs, holding him closer and letting his head fall back against the wall.

"Please," Sherlock breathes against his skin.

John nods, reaching for his hand and pulling them both towards the stairs when Sherlock manages to take a step back.

"Boys?"

John freezes, looking over at 221A. Mrs Hudson is gazing at them both, Rosie in her arms. "Could you take care of Rosie for a little longer?" John asks, knowing exactly what it looked like.

"Of course, dear," Mrs Hudson replies, her smile quite obvious and Sherlock is already pulling on John's hand. "You two just go."

John barely manages to thank her before he is dragged upstairs. He loses his jacket in the process, the item of clothing landing on the floor next to Sherlock's coat, and their bodies collide together once more in the middle of their home. Sherlock's hands are back cradling his face, holding him close and John lets himself start to realise that yes, he's about to kiss Sherlock Holmes.

"Yes?" Sherlock asks in a whisper.

John smiles, feeling warm all over as he replies as softly as he can, "Yes."

With a hand wrapped around his neck, the other clenched in his shirt, John leans in.

Sherlock exhales loudly as soon as their lips meet, a moan echoing inside the room and John couldn't care less who just let it slip. They don't move, barely breathing now, and when they both pull away, John can't help the light laughter escaping him. Sherlock is smiling, a smile that reaches the lines around his eyes, and John can do nothing more but kiss him again. They both move in one movement, letting their lips part and meet again, each time daring just a bit more, just a bit harder, just a bit longer.

There is no doubt Sherlock is the one moaning when John lets his tongue trace his upper lip. Already desperate for more, John wills Sherlock's mouth open with hungry kisses and tentative licks. Sherlock lets his lips part immediately, his own tongue darting out to stroke John's and the first contact makes him pull away. John forces himself to open his eyes, "Everything alright?"

Sherlock is panting against his lips, hands clutching around his nape, and he sighs softly, "Yes, yes, I..."

John raises one hand to his cheek, stroking his skin slowly, "Tell me."

"I..." Sherlock starts again, opening his eyes to look at him, and the bare trust and love there makes John's entire body shudder. "I love you," Sherlock finally breathes out. "I love you."

John is the one who moans weakly, letting the words wash over him in hot, bright waves.

"I love you," Sherlock repeats, leaning back in to press their lips together, continuing to whisper between each kiss, "I love you, I love you."

"God, Sherlock," John breathes out, wondering if he could somehow convince Sherlock to never stop telling him.

"John, again," Sherlock asks, kissing just a little harder. "Again."

It only takes a moment for John to realise what he's asking for, and then he can't stop himself from pushing him back towards the sofa, lying them both down as he lets their tongues meet again. Sherlock arches against him, pulling him down on top of him. John makes sure to remain high enough not to overwhelm him, and Sherlock breaks the kiss to pant against his lips, "More, please."

John recaptures his mouth, Sherlock's tongue chasing his right away, and he slowly rolls them so that they're lying on their sides, facing each other. He's not sure how long they remain like this, kissing every time they pull away, but soon they're both breathless, Sherlock's entire body melting into his. John smiles, lips brushing Sherlock's brow and nose before pressing their foreheads together.

"Sherlock," he says in a whisper, and Sherlock hums happily against his lips. John smiles, "Are you going to fall asleep again?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes, "I'm not."

John pokes him in the stomach, "You know, you almost worried me with your sleeping."

Sherlock's lips curl into a smile, "It's not my fault if you're so comfortable to sleep with."

John laughs, shaking his head and kissing him again, "You're quite comfortable yourself, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock stares at him for a long moment, two fingers tracing the lines of his face. "I almost didn't trust my own head that second night," he finally says, his voice almost a whisper. "I woke up the next morning, and wondered if you had really asked me that simple and yet world shattering question."

John smiles, remembering his own train of thought when he had woken up that morning, and his nervousness as he waited for Sherlock's text replies.

"But you did ask," Sherlock says in wonder.

"I did," John smiles.

Sherlock's eyes flutter closed, "It would have been so different, John. I would have let you kiss me, would have let you take all of me and make it yours. Even after one day, one evening really, I was already wondering how to make you say forever." John kisses him again, just because he can, and Sherlock keeps him close as he continues, "And you're right. I saw everything, but I didn't understand then. Couldn't bring myself to take that step you were waiting for me to take towards more. When I think about it now, I sometimes tell myself I was afraid, but it was probably just all too sudden."

John brushes one hand across his cheek, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to overwhelm you back then."

Sherlock shakes his head, "No, you don't have to apologize. I should." He lets out a deep breath. "I should because I saw that you were still looking at me like that first night, and I let it linger. I thought I could take the time to let it build, and all I did was ruin all of it."

John frowns, not certain he understands what Sherlock means exactly, and Sherlock sighs, reading it all on his face.

"Because that's when I really started to feel afraid, of what could happen to you, of what it could mean if I'd just let you in." Sherlock leans in, brushing their noses together and closing his eyes. "All the sudden Moriarty was everywhere, a threat I couldn’t control, and I couldn't let him get to you. He almost killed you, John, because he managed to see right through me."

John holds him closer, "I doesn't matter now. He's gone."

Sherlock nods slowly, "Yes, but all those years wasted. They're gone too."

John shakes his head, "They're gone, yes, but we're here. We're on this sofa, together, and that's what matters. That in the end, we made it right here."

Sherlock pulls away again, looking at him closely. "How do you manage to do that?"

John smiles, "What?"

"Make it seem all so easy," Sherlock whispers.

"Oh love," John says, "It's not easy. Far from it, but we tried. We held on to what we had, to what we could have, and it paid off."

"We've hurt each other," Sherlock says, hand clutching at John's shirt now.

John nods, "Yes, and like I told you before, maybe it would have all been different if I had kissed you that first night, but that's just a maybe. We will never know what could have happened, but we know what did."

Sherlock stares at him for a long moment, "Did you mean it? When you said you wanted us to be family, did you mean it?"

John kisses him softly, "We already are."

Sherlock lets himself be kissed for several minutes, and John takes advantage of every one of them. He presses them closer together, letting the worry fade and only allowing Sherlock to feel loved and relaxed in his arms. He knows Sherlock is right, and yes, they've hurt each other on so many levels that sometimes it's still a wonder that they're still standing here. But none of it matters now, they have to get past it to move forwards, and if John doesn't want to forget, he also needs to accept all of it.

"I mean it," he says, smiling. "We are a family, you, me and Rosie. We care for each other, we love each other and that's what makes us what we are."

Sherlock sighs, his breath warm against John's lips. "I'd never thought I'll get to feel like this," he confesses quietly. "I always thought I'd die young, either from an overdose or some bad choices during a case. I never expected you, John. You burst into my life, and all of the sudden I had a reason to be careful, someone to care for, someone to fall in love with. And yes, it scared me, but it allowed me to stay alive during these two long years. It allowed me to come back to you."

John closes his eyes, an ache spreading throughout his chest at the thoughts of those two years. Sherlock's lips brush his softly, "John," he whispers, "I don't blame you for having moved on while I was gone. I never did."

"I know," John breathes out, "but I should have stopped everything when you were back. I shouldn't have continued with all the lies."

Sherlock shakes his head, stopping him from saying anything else with another kiss, and John gets lost into his taste. He slides his tongue between Sherlock's lips, chasing his and turning this kiss into something a bit more desperate. Desperate for more, desperate for Sherlock to understand just how sorry he is, desperate to let him feel just how loved he is.

"I love you," he whispers as soon as they part, and Sherlock snuggles closer, his head back against John's neck. "I have an idea," he smiles. "Why don't we ask Mrs Hudson to have Rosie sleep downstairs tonight. I'm certain she won't mind, and the truth is, I'm not sure I can move from this sofa."

Sherlock chuckles softly, "Even to go to bed?"

John licks his lips, closing his eyes and breathing out loudly, "I could be convinced."

Sherlock doesn't reply right away, simply remaining still and letting his mouth brush John's neck here and there. "I know what you're going to say."

John hides his smile inside Sherlock's curls, "Do you?"

Sherlock nods, "Yes, and you're right, as usual."

John laughs, pressing a tender kiss to his temple, "Those texts weren't enough, not for me at least."

"I know," Sherlock breathes out. "And I'm ready to tell you, anything you want to know."

"I want to discover it all with you, love. I want to find out which caresses make you whimper, which part of your body makes you shudder, which kisses make you beg for more. Everything, Sherlock, I want to discover it all with you, in our bed." He stops, giving Sherlock time to say anything if he wants to, but he only presses himself closer to him. John rubs one hand across his back, continuing, "But I don't want us to engage in this if we're not entirely honest with each other."

Sherlock remains silent for a moment, "I understand." He pulls away, kissing him softly for several seconds before saying, "Let's discover all there is left of each other."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here goes one chapter of smut and some more smut!  
> There is only one epilogue left to this story! Thank you so much for all the amazing feedbacks :)
> 
> Enjoy,  
> Pauline

John isn't sure how exactly they make it to the bedroom, but all of the sudden there are lips against his neck, and Sherlock's body beneath him, and John can't seem to be able to breathe properly anymore. He tries to focus on the exact feeling of Sherlock's mouth against his skin, of Sherlock's hips locked to his hips and his legs circling his waist. He's already getting hard, even the smallest movement of Sherlock's groin against his making it harder to think about anything else than pinning him to this very bed for hours and hours.

"John," Sherlock breathes out, arching away from the mattress and pushing himself harder against him. "I've thought about this so much."

"Tell me," John pants, lips finding Sherlock's temple and lingering there. "Tell me everything."

Sherlock lets out a shaky breath, both hands clenched in John's shirt as he says, "That first night, the first one you spent here, I couldn't stop thinking about you lying in that bed just above mine. I could picture you so perfectly, could almost hear you, could almost see through the ceiling and touch you."

John inhales sharply, "God, Sherlock, I was already hooked. I couldn't close my eyes without remembering the way you moved during that case, you way you talked, the way you looked." John moves lower, capturing Sherlock's lips in a burning kiss. "Christ, you're so beautiful."

Sherlock arches against him once more, "John", he breathes out, "Please."

John lets one hand slide down his face, shoulder and side, "Anything, love."

Sherlock's eyes find his, locking them both in the moment, "Yes, that."

John smiles, "Love?"

Sherlock nods, his voice barely a whisper as he replies, "I've dreamed about this for so long. I wasn't sure I deserved it. Not after everything we've been-"

John cuts him off with a kiss, letting their mouths brush over and over again, "Don't. We're here now, we're right here, and I love you."

Sherlock exhales loudly against his lips, "We're here."

John nods, "Yes. And I want you, so bloody much right now, that I can't believe just how lucky we are."

Sherlock smiles back at him, rolling his hips ever so slowly and John holds back a moan, "So very lucky."

John dives back in for another kiss, their bodies taking control again, and all of the sudden there isn't enough space for either of them to exist except within the other. John tugs on Sherlock's shirt, urging him to let him remove it, and Sherlock complies immediately. John takes advantage of the moment to wrestle out of his own, and the next time they find each other, a loud moan escapes Sherlock's lips.

"Do you remember the case we took in Edinburgh?" John asks, already breathless.

Sherlock nods, another whimper breaching his lips as John's mouth finds his shoulder blade.

"Do you?" John asks, tongue darting out to taste Sherlock's skin.

It takes another second before Sherlock breathes out a weak, "Yes."

"We had shared rooms before, but never like that," John continues, unable to keep the desire out of his voice. "That was the first time you decided to sleep too, to join me in bed and not spend the night working on the case. Remember?"

Sherlock nods several times, "Yes. I used to force myself not to sleep, all the times before. I couldn't face the fact that we were going to lie in the same bed, even just lying there next to each other. There were too many- Oh, god, John!"

John grins against Sherlock's nipple, licking at the nub over and over again, enjoying all the ways Sherlock's body is responding to his touch.

"Too many what, love?"

Sherlock inhales sharply, both hands now on John's nape, keeping him close, "Possibilities," he breathes out. "Too many possibilities."

John rocks his hips against Sherlock's, their still clothed erections rubbing together, "God yes, I couldn't stop thinking about what could happen. I was certain I would never fall asleep."

Sherlock locks his leg around his waist, "I thought about kissing you," he says. "In the middle of the night, you moved closer to me, one of your hands searching for mine, and I thought about stealing a kiss from your lips. I told myself you would never know."

John looks down at him, "But you didn't."

Sherlock shakes his head, "I stupidly thought that I'd want you to kiss me back."

John smiles, "That's not stupid," he says, leaning down to give Sherlock a kiss. "That's romantic."

Sherlock rolls his eyes, still breathing hard and clutching John's nape. He looks down at their joined bodies before glancing back up at him, "Why did you stop?"

John laughs, "You do realise this isn't going to last long, right?"

Sherlock licks his lips, letting his hand slide down John's back and onto his arse, "I don't care, I want you."

John rolls his hips slowly, "Next round," he pants, "next round, we'll take our time."

Sherlock only moans in response, fingers sliding to John's front and fumbling with his trousers. John forces himself to stop moving, and Sherlock whimpers when he pulls away just enough to push both of their trousers and pants down quickly.

"Christ, love," John breathes out, not quite believing he's actually staring at a naked, gorgeous Sherlock. "You're so beautiful."

"John," Sherlock calls, reaching for him with both arms and pulling him back down onto him. "It's for you. Always for you."

John kisses him again, rocking against him and finding them both already sweaty and wet enough for the friction to be absolutely wonderful. He can already feel his orgasm building, their erections sliding against each other with each thrust, and soon Sherlock's moans are filling the room, louder and louder as they move closer to climax. John slides both hands through Sherlock's' curls, holding him in place so that he can seal their lips again, not quite a kiss, they're both already too far gone for that.

"John, I-" Sherlock cries out, meeting every one of John's thrust snow, and starting to shake in his arms.

"Yes, love," John pants, his entire body shuddering. "Yes."

Sherlock rocks against him once, twice more before going entirely still in his arms, and John can only stare down at him as he comes. John's name echoes in the room for several seconds, Sherlock holding on tightly to him as his orgasm knocks the breath out of him.

"Oh fuck, Sherlock, you-" John can't finish, can't speak, can't think anymore, and he comes between their stomachs, face tucked against Sherlock's neck.

He feels Sherlock's hands rub his back through it, the touch so very slow, so very gentle that tears spill out John's eyes. He can't explain, he's not even sure he wants to explain it. Sherlock's lips are now pressed against his temple, his breath hot and their bodies still glued together, the whole of it absolutely brilliant.

"I love you, John Watson," Sherlock whispers. "I've wanted to tell you for so long, and I almost did this week, so many times. I love you, and I want to have this for as long as possible, for as long as you want to give it to me."

John kisses his neck as softly as possible, still trying to regain his breath as he replies, "Let's make it clear now, then," he smiles. "I want this until I'm too old to remember I once didn't have it."

He feels Sherlock's lips curl into a smile against his skin, and after another second of silence, Sherlock says in a breath, "Deal."

John is not sure how or when they fell asleep, but when he wakes up to Sherlock's erection pressed against his own, another two hours have passed. Refusing to fully wake up yet, John allows himself to breathe it all in. He nuzzles his nose against Sherlock's, the caress too soft to wake him up, and without a sound, John also lets his fingers discover the lines of Sherlock's back. With their bodies pressed chest to chest, he can only trust his touch, and the scars his fingertips meet make his heart ache. He tries not to think about it too much, not let the memories ruin the moment, but can't help but wonder once more just how different it would all have been if they had just been a little braver.

"Don't," Sherlock's voice comes against his lips.

John smiles, kissing him tenderly, "I know."

Sherlock sighs, snuggling closer, "I want you again."

John laughs, throwing his head back and Sherlock chases his lips immediately, "I can feel that, yes," he replies.

Sherlock hums happily, kissing him for a long moment, before pulling away, "I guess I'm supposed to tell you now that this is entirely new to me."

John licks his lips, nodding slowly, "Alright. It's not for me, not exactly, but it's been a long time."

Sherlock stares at him intensely, "Would you tell me, one day?"

"Of course," John smiles, already knowing he wants to tell Sherlock absolutely everything. They gaze at each other in silence for a long moment, lips meeting and parting some more. "Are you afraid?" John finally asks, the words almost too quiet.

Sherlock doesn't reply yet, eyes studying John's face. "I don't know," he replies, one finger now tracing the lines on John's shoulder blade. "I think I am, on some level. I've been, well, thinking about it for quite some time now, and every time it both arouses me and makes me worry."

John can feel the arousal just fine, but he doesn't comment on it yet. "Worry?"

Sherlock nods, "I have little to no experience with sexual intercourse, John. I fear it will be all too boring for you."

John shakes his head, cupping Sherlock's face with both hands and staring into his eyes, "You listen to me Sherlock Holmes," he says, hoping the tone of his voice will make Sherlock understand just how serious he is. "I have never, and will never be bored of anything when it comes to you." Sherlock sighs, looking down at John's chest. "I mean it, love. I have no expectation, nothing. I know we're going to be brilliant together, I have no doubt about it. And it's not because of experience in the area, only because this is going to be us, just us."

Sherlock looks back up at him, "How can you be so sure?"

John smiles, brushing their lips together, "Because you're that amazing, and I'm that in love with you."

Sherlock laughs and John captures the sound between his lips, kissing Sherlock for several seconds. He waits until he can feel the tension leave Sherlock's shoulders, and only then does he roll his hips, reminding them both of their current state of arousal. Sherlock breaks the kiss, moaning loudly, his grip on John's arm tightening.

"John," he pants. "You said next round..."

John hums in agreement, "Yes, I did."

Sherlock thrusts back against him, cocks sliding together in the most sensual friction, and John fears they might get lost into each other again. He forces himself to slow down, barely rolling his hips now, and Sherlock's eyes flutter back open, gazing at him.

"Are you certain?" John asks.

Sherlock licks his lips, teeth biting the lower one, "Yes."

Slowly, John rolls him onto his back before lying on top of him again. He remains there, unmoving, letting their lips meet again. He knows they need to go slow, and he threads his fingers through Sherlock's curls.

"We need some-"

"Top drawer," Sherlock cuts in, glancing at the bedside table.

John leans in, hand dipping into the drawer and finding both lube and condom. Sherlock watches as he sets them down next to them, and with a shy glance says, "I sent you the tests results."

John smiles, remembering the texts and the promises they held back then, "You did, yes."

Sherlock inhales deeply, "Then we don't need condoms. I mean, we're both clean of any STDs and I don't plan on sleeping with anyone else, and if I understood correctly you don't either."

John stares down at him, "Of course, I don't."

Sherlock nods sharply, "Good." He takes the condom, throwing it on the floor before looking back at him.

John brushes their lips together, "You do know that I don't even plan on being with anyone else, that I'm committed to this, to you, to us."

"Yes," Sherlock replies, his breath warm against John's lips. "I know."

John smiles, "Let me make love to you, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock's entire body shivers beneath him, and John rocks them together once more. A promise for more.

"Please," Sherlock whispers.

After that, John isn't sure he's in control anymore. He seals their lips again, the two of them letting their hands explore all of the other, and when it becomes harder and harder to ignore their growing arousal, Sherlock is the one to place the bottle of lube in John's hand. John pulls away, staring down at Sherlock's face and reading there the last reassurance he needs. Smiling, he kisses his way down Sherlock's neck and chest, stopping at his navel. Sherlock's erection is poking into his chin, and for a moment, John considers taking him inside his mouth.

"John," Sherlock's voice comes above him. "I'm not sure I can..."

John smiles, understanding the unspoken words and he kisses the head of Sherlock's cock softly, "Another time."

Sherlock moans loudly, nodding quickly and spreading his legs wider. John settles onto his heels, staring down at Sherlock's open and trusting figure on the bed. "You're probably going to get tired of hearing it, but you're so beautiful, love."

Sherlock shakes his head, the flush on his cheeks and chest deepening, "I don't think I'll get tired of it, John."

John laughs, kissing Sherlock's knee before opening the bottle of lube and pouring some on his fingers. He warms it for a moment, asking one last "Ok?" and slowly lowering one finger toward Sherlock's arse when Sherlock nods at him. "You need to tell me if it hurts, alright?"

"Yes," Sherlock breathes out, eyes already fluttering closed as John's finger massages his entrance. "It feels good."

John licks his lips, pushing his finger in when he feels Sherlock relax entirely. They both moan at the same time, John watching as his finger slides deeper and deeper into Sherlock. He finds Sherlock's eyes fixed on him when he looks up, and he knows Sherlock is reading there all the emotions John is feeling at this very moment. They don't look away as John pulls his finger out and in again, setting a regular pace, not yet searching for Sherlock's prostate.

"More," Sherlock pants after a while, and John bites his lower lip as he adds a second finger. Sherlock's head falls back against the pillow, his back arching on the bed, and John watches, fascinated. "John," Sherlock moans, "John, please."

John pulls his fingers out, and in again, starting to look for that bundle of nerves that will catch Sherlock's every sense on fire. He only has to push into him three more times before finding it, and Sherlock's cry echoes in the room for a long moment. John stops his movements, giving him time to get used to it, and Sherlock's frenetic eyes fall back on him, "Again," he demands, and John can only comply.

Now that he found Sherlock's prostate, John makes sure to stimulate it with every thrust, and when he adds a third finger, Sherlock is already lost to pleasure. He has both hands clenched in the sheets, his lower body rising into the air with each thrust and his cock hard and leaking on his stomach. It takes all of John's will not to touch him, knowing neither of them will last long after so much teasing.

"Sherlock," he pants, "Are you-"

"Yes," Sherlock replies immediately, eyes now fixed on John's erection. "Yes."

With shaky hands, John removes his fingers and pours some more lube directly onto his cock. He strokes himself once, twice, moaning, and Sherlock's own moan echoes back at him. John makes sure to lower himself on top of Sherlock again before guiding himself to his entrance, both of them barely breathing, and with a kiss, Sherlock locks both legs around his waist, "Yes."

John slowly pushes in, both of their whimpers filling the room, and he only stops when he's fully inside Sherlock. He stares down at him then, looking for any sign of pain or worry on Sherlock's face but finding only bare trust and love. Without looking away, John pulls out and back in slowly, angling his hips so he will hit Sherlock's prostate again.

"John, yes," Sherlock moans, throwing his head back.

John kisses the offered neck, now settling a regular pace and letting their bodies come together again and again. Sherlock's fingers are digging into his back, his legs adding more pressure to each of John's thrusts inside him, and soon he is rocking back against him. John tries to remain in control for as long as he can, focusing on Sherlock's pleasure, but another sharp thrust makes him lose all sense of restraint. He starts to drive into Sherlock faster, harder, and Sherlock arches against him, his moans getting louder and louder.

"Yes, yes," he whimpers, "John, yes."

"Fuck, Sherlock, you feel amazing."

Sherlock doesn't reply, can't reply really, and John realises he's probably going to come without a single touch to his cock. The thought makes his own arousal grow and he pounds into Sherlock faster, aiming for his prostate each time, trapping Sherlock’s erection between their stomachs.

"John, I'm co-"

Sherlock's entire body stills as he spends himself between them, crying out John's name.

"Oh god," John whimpers, feeling the muscles of Sherlock's arse contract around his cock and it only takes a few more thrusts before he's coming inside him.

It takes a little longer for both of them to come down from their orgasm this time, and when John finds back his way to reality, Sherlock is kissing all over his neck and shoulder. He’s whispering something, over and over again, and when John finally manages to catch it, he feels his chest expand with the unconditional love he feels for this brilliant, amazing, extraordinary man.

"I love you," he whispers in response, feeling Sherlock shake when he pulls out.

"Don't go," Sherlock says immediately, pulling him back close to him.

"We have to clean up this time," John smiles, but he can already feel sleep gaining on him. "Let me just grab my shirt."

Sherlock allows him two seconds, "That's not the purpose of one's shirt, John."

John shakes his head, cleaning them both up and tossing the shirt back on the floor, "Get used to it," he says with a wink.

Sherlock rolls his eyes but smiles widely at him. John settles back into his arms, both of them lying on their sides, and Sherlock closes his eyes, sighing, "In case you haven't noticed, you're the one making me sleep all the time."

The last thing John remembers before falling asleep is the sound of their joined laughter echoing in the room.


	9. Epilogue

John wakes up to the sound of regular typing. It only takes a few seconds for the events of the night before to fill his head again, and only then does he realise there is a warm body pressed all along his. He lets the moment linger just a little longer, still half asleep but very much aware of the promises this new day holds for him, for them. 

"Good, you're awake," Sherlock says, and John can't hold back a quiet laugh.

Rolling to his back, John looks up at him, "What are you doing?"

"Writing down new data about your sleep patterns," Sherlock replies, sounding all too casual about it and John falls in love just a bit more. He watches him in silence, long fingers flying over the keyboard and memories of where they had stroked and caressed the night before coming back to him. "You're staring."

John smiles, "You're quite fascinating, you know."

Sherlock rolls his eyes but pushes his computer away, "Am I?"

John licks his lips, nodding as Sherlock lies back down next to him. They stare at each other for a long moment, eyes roaming all over the other’s face, and John lets one hand slide down Sherlock's chest slowly, "Yes," he whispers. Sherlock's lips curl into a smile, and without any hesitation, he leans in for a proper morning kiss.

John slides both arms around Sherlock's waist, pulling him closer and closer until they're entirely pressed together. He feels Sherlock shiver against him, moaning inside the kiss, and John resists the urge to roll him over on his back and ravish him once more.

"Sherlock," he smiles, pulling away slowly, "love, we have to get up." Sherlock shakes his head, chasing his lips and John lets himself be kissed once more before continuing, "I have no idea what time it is, but we have to get up."

"We really don't," Sherlock sighs, one hand making its way between their chests before sliding much lower.

John bites his lip, feeling himself growing harder already but pulling away anyway, "As much as I really, really want to have your hand around me right now, we have a daughter who's waiting for us."

Sherlock's entire body stills, hand still trapped between their bodies and his eyes fixed on John's.

"What is it?" John murmurs, stroking one finger across Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock closes his eyes, leaning into the touch and opening his mouth a few times before finally saying, "We have a daughter."

John feels something warm washing all over him, making his heart beat just a little faster and his entire body crave more of this man in front of him, "Yes, we do. She's just as much yours as she's mine, love. She's going to grow up being so loved because she's got the two of us watching over her, caring for her, loving her. She's going to have a family, a proper one, one who's happy, one that sometimes fights, one she will maybe curse against some days, but one she can always count on."

Sherlock looks back at him, tears pooling in his eyes and something so very soft in his smile, "A family."

John nods, leaning in to kiss him again, "Yes," he breathes against Sherlock's lips before kissing him some more. They forget the world around them, and just for a moment, they allow themselves to truly believe that it is all happening.

"Ok," John says after long minutes of rather heated snogging, "We really have to get up now."

Sherlock hums, both hands falling from John's body to the mattress, and they stare at each other for just a second before bursting into laughter. John glances as the clock by the bed, wondering just how long they’ve been in bed exactly, "Christ, it's only three in the afternoon and we're just lazily lying in bed."

Sherlock sits up on the bed, casting him a knowing look, "I'm fairly sure I can convince Mrs Hudson to keep Rosie downstairs with her until tomorrow."

John laughs, actually considering the idea, "Are you saying you'd like to spend an entire day just lying in bed?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes, "Not just lying there, John, obviously."

"Obviously," John laughs again, watching him closely. _Yes_ , he thinks, _I want to spend the day in bed with that mad, brilliant man_. "Alright. Go and convince her, then." Sherlock looks surprised for just a second before storming out of bed. "Put some clothes on," John says before he can leave the room, and his laughter fills the room once more when Sherlock lets out a loud sigh while getting dressed.

John waits until he hears him climb down the stairs before lying back down, staring at the ceiling and marveling at this bright happiness filling every part of him. He listens to the familiar noise of his home, of the place he'd chosen all those years ago, and accepts the fact that he's going to grow old right in this bed, lying next to the only person who’s ever made him feel so alive.

"That was almost too easy," comes Sherlock's voice and John looks up at him, not actually surprised it took him so little time to talk Mrs Hudson into his plan.  

Standing in the doorway, Sherlock is staring at him, his face radiating with joy and pride. John nods towards the empty space next to him, Sherlock crawling back onto the bed right away, and without a word, they find each other once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here goes the end of this story!
> 
> First of all, thank you so much to Heather for being an awesome beta, as always.  
> Then, thank you to all of you who left a kudos or/and a comment, you all kept me going with this story. I had no idea it would end up being over 26k when I first started writing it, but here we are. I've loved writing these two characters once more, getting them together as it should be, and I hope you enjoyed it just as much.
> 
> Thank you again,  
> love you all,  
> Pauline.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3


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